


A Foreign Feeling

by imgoingtocrash, savvysass



Series: made of iron, born of fire [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BioDad!AU, Birth complications, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Irondad, Mary Fitzpatrick-Parker is Good And We Love Her, Mary Fitzpatrick/Tony Stark (mentioned/background), Mary Parker/Richard Parker (Mentioned), May Parker/Ben Parker (background), Medically Accurate Descriptions, Minor Character Death, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Pre-Iron Man 1, Pre-Villain Arc Obie, The Parker Fam Is Part Of The IronFam, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whump, ironfam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23567044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imgoingtocrash/pseuds/imgoingtocrash, https://archiveofourown.org/users/savvysass/pseuds/savvysass
Summary: A foreign feeling blooms in his chest, spreading through his veins like sunshine. He doesn’t know if he would call it joy—there are still nerves tied up in whatever the sensation is—but it’s ultimately the most remarkable feeling he’s ever experienced. It takes his breath away.His eyes wander to the monitor in front of the doctor, lingering on the small, colorless little bean on the screen.My kid.That’s my kid.Faced with impending fatherhood, Tony Stark has multiple emotional crises, realizes he needs to make some life changes, gets to know the mother of his child better, bonds with his makeshift family, and finds unconditional love in his son.
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Pepper Potts & James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Mart Fitzpatrick & May Parker (Spider-Man), Mary Fitzpatrick & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: made of iron, born of fire [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696297
Comments: 113
Kudos: 509





	A Foreign Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> [imgoingtocrash](https://www.imgoingtocrash.tumblr.com) \- Well, folks, we did another collab. This fic quickly got out of hand (25k, jfc), and it would not have been possible without Savannah as my partner. She's a joy to write with, a wonderful friend, and her ideas for maximum angst hurt so, so good. It took months to make this happen, and I am extremely proud of this fic and all of the hours we put into it, so I hope all of our fellow IronDad fans love it too.
> 
> [savvysass](https://www.savvysass.tumblr.com) \- AAAAAAAAAAAAA it's donnnnnnnnneee! Special thanks to my beloved labor and delivery nurse mother Sandra (yes I made the character after her) and her NICU nurse friends Kathy (again, why not just put them in?) and all of their friends that I threw in here, including Doctor Khofed and Doctor Patel. ESPECIALLY BIG OVERWHELMING THANKS TO KATE FOR BEING THE AIR I BREATHE, THE FIRE IN MY SOUL, THE WIND BENEATH MY WINGS! This wouldn't have happened without her to push my ideas and help me write this! Her understanding and ability to write Tony as a character as well as everyone else is unparalleled, and being able to write with my closest friend and be witness to her abilities has been one of the best experiences of my life! I'm so proud of this! Mom's comment will be added once i send her the finished version!
> 
> Check out the related graphic (made by savvysass herself) [here](https://imgoingtocrash.tumblr.com/post/614959560368832512/a-foreign-feeling-by-imgoingtocrash-and)!

**February 16th, 2001**

Tony is slightly hung over from the night before—okay, maybe _more_ than slightly. He’s so hungover that he’s avoiding every responsibility on his plate in favor of trying to keep down the two bloody marys he had this morning—a typical Friday as of late. He doesn’t think he’s been truly sober since New Years Eve. 

_Thank_ God _It’s Friday, at least,_ he muses as his stomach does a full gymnastics routine in his gut. He groans in misery as he fumbles for the trash can, losing the cheeseburger he had special ordered this morning just as Pepper Potts strides in, equipped with her signature heels and a disappointed frown at the sound of the food she ordered for him not an hour ago splashing against the aluminum can.

“ _Jesus_ , Pep,” Tony says with a moan. “Can’t you see I’m having a moment? Do I need to put a sock on the door or something?”

Pepper scoffs, her usual lack of sympathy at the circumstances he puts himself in evident. 

“There’s a woman downstairs without an appointment demanding to see you. I would appreciate it if you kept your ‘female companions’ away from the building, by the way. It’s bad enough when I have to see them at the house.”

Tony scowls, wiping his mouth with a leftover napkin as he sits back up in his chair.

“I’ll have you know I have _not_ ordered a call girl to this office...in a while. Particularly, not today, since I’m too busy _puking my guts out_. Did you at least get her name?”

“Mary Fitzpatrick. She claims it’s urgent.”

Tony feels his heart skip a beat at the name. He remembers Mary—a strikingly beautiful biochemist from Oscorp he met about a month back at a convention in New York City. Her husband died in a plane accident a few months before, and she was at the rebound stage of her grieving. 

Tony didn’t mean to take advantage of that, but he’d gone through enough grief himself that he had clicked with her, and she was consenting, so he wasn’t going to question it. They were both pretty buzzed, but he was surprised to say it was one of the few one night stands he was vaguely sober for, and that was probably the reason he remembered enjoying it so thoroughly. He’d thought about asking for her number—a huge step for him—but when he woke up, she had disappeared. He had been slightly disappointed, but figured it was for the best.

Pepper must see the way his face pales, because her demeanor softens.

“So you _do_ know her,” she states instead of asking. “I can bring her up. She has some files with her.”

Files. Maybe she’s just here on business. Maybe one of his one night stands could actually lead to something productive.

“Sure. Yeah. Bring her on up.”

Tony fiddles with the Newton’s Cradle on his desk, snapping at a passing intern to take out his rancid trash can. Whatever she’s here for, he’s sure a smelly, puke-filled trash can isn’t the best sign of his stability.

His door opens and Mary Fitzpatrick strides into the room with a seriousness he hadn’t seen on her when they met, clearly a woman on a mission. Pepper looks at him nervously, standing behind Mary instead of going back to her desk outside. Mary places a folder on his desk and sits across from him, fussing with the wedding ring she still wears around her finger.

“Those are for you,” Mary says without preamble.

“Nice to see you too, Mary,” Tony says with a tight smile. “It’s been a while. Can’t imagine why you’re stopping by, but I hope it’s good, since we’re clearly skipping pleasantries.” Mary stares back at him, and he is surprised to see a hesitant fear reflected in her eyes.

Pepper seems to sense this might become a private moment, turning on her heel towards the door, but she halts when she hears Tony's choked gasp.

He looks down at the file in his hand. There’s blood work from an OB-GYN’s office, the bolded text at the bottom reading _pregnant_ , no other explanation required.

“It’s yours,” Mary says matter-of-factly. “I haven’t slept with anyone but you since Richard. It can _only_ be yours.”

Tony looks to Pepper in fear. She’s Pepper. She always knows what to do, cleans up before he ever makes a mess. In this, however, she’s just as surprised as him, only giving a mirroring shocked expression to his own.

“We used a condom,” Tony says dumbly. “I know that we did. I always do.”

Mary snorts. “They’re not always effective, Tony.”

Tony gives a small nod as he stares at the page, worrying at his beard with the hand that’s not death-gripping the papers in front of him.

“I’m not getting rid of it,” Mary says abruptly, and Tony looks up to see the conviction in her eyes across the desk. “I thought I might at first, but I don’t think I can. I just…I don’t want to.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Tony replies. Mary seems to relax at that. Tony nods, sniffing quickly as he slams the folder shut.

“So. What’s the plan here?” he asks. Mary looks at him in confusion. “You need money? Child support? I will need a full paternity test of course, but I’m happy to—”

“I don’t need your money,” Mary scoffs. “I make plenty at Oscorp. I just—I thought you should know. It’s yours and...you should know.”

Tony swallows. “Do you—do you have any family? Someone to help you with...everything?”

“I’m not on speaking terms with my family,” Mary states. He can’t tell if she’s happy about that fact or not. He doesn’t know her well enough to tell, and they’re having a baby together, _god_.

“I don’t need help. I can handle it, but you’re the father. I recognize that you should have a chance to be a part of this, if you’re interested.”

“Tony, we should talk to Obadiah,” Pepper murmurs, suddenly at his side instead of across the desk. He’d been so zeroed in on Mary that he hadn’t noticed her move.

“No—you know what Obie will say. I can handle this,” Tony says with more bravado than he actually feels at this moment. He turns back to Mary and feels that confidence wane even further. “Mary, being a part of this...what does that entail, exactly? On my part?”

Mary’s eyes soften. She pulls out an appointment card. “I go to my ten week check up at my OB-GYN on March 19th. She’s in Queens, and I know her personally. She’ll keep any involvement from you quiet. You’re welcome to come.”

Tony nods firmly. “I’ll be there.”

“Tony—” Pepper starts, but he holds a hand up to her.

“That will be all, Miss Potts. Mary, do you need anything else?”

Mary shakes her head, a relieved smile on her face for the first time since she entered the office. “No. That’s all.”

Tony claps his hands together, taking a quick inhale. “Alright then. Pepper will show you out. I’ll see you on March 19th.”

Mary nods, shaking his hand before she takes her leave. Pepper fixes him with an unappreciative frown at her dismissal, but she shuts the door behind the two of them anyway.

Tony stares at the door and lets out an exhale into the silence.

He got someone pregnant.

He’s going to be a dad.

_Fuck._

Fatherhood was nowhere on his radar twenty minutes ago, but here he is with the knowledge that he’s going to have a child in the world in eight months—shit, she had been pregnant for a whole _month_ —and he’s supposed to…what? Buy them birthday presents? Take them to Disney World?

What did fathers who were involved in their children’s lives _do_?

He needs a drink.

Does having a kid mean he needs to stop drinking?

Before he has time to ruminate more on _that_ trainwreck of a problem, Obie rushes into his office, Pepper hot on his heels and looking slightly apologetic despite telling Tony that he needed to talk to Obie about this in the first place. Obie shuts the door on her, cementing that the conversation is between just him and Tony.

“We’re gonna fight this,” Obie declares, directing himself straight towards Tony’s drink cart. 

“Obie,” Tony sighs out. He knows the tone: chiding Tony's actions, but ultimately protective in that he intends to take charge of the situation and fix whatever his pseudo-nephew’s broken.

“No, Tony, listen, I’ve got this. You think this lady’s the first woman to declare herself the mother of a Stark heir?”

Tony frowns. “To my knowledge.”

“Just the first one ballsy enough to come through the front doors,” Obie snorts into his freshly poured glass of bourbon. “Listen, we ask for a paternity test and she’ll back down. They always do.”

“That’s—it’s not like that.”

Obie eyebrows narrow, voice questioning. “Then tell me what it’s like.”

“The timing—I remember sleeping with her. The tech conference in New York, about five weeks ago. We can get a paternity test if you want, but I’m pretty sure she’s telling the truth.”

Obadiah moves into the sigh that escapes his lips, seating himself across from Tony’s side of the desk. His hand moves to cover his mouth, his usual thinking gesture.

“Okay. Okay, fine, that’s—we can still work with this. We’ll offer her a lump sum and you’ll sign away legal rights to the kid. Done and done.”

“Wow, nice to know you think so little of me, Obie,” Tony scoffs. Okay, so maybe he’d wondered if he should, for a minute there. And surely _spite_ isn’t a good reason to decide to stay in his kid’s life. But boy, does that kind of comment make him want to do it more. He loves defying expectations more than anything. “And anyway, she’s a scientist. A biochemist. She doesn’t need my money. She doesn’t _want_ it.”

“Wait, woah, back up. You’re not saying—“

“What?”

Obie looks at him, mouth agape. “Seriously? You want to keep the kid?”

Faced with the expectations again, Tony stutters out, “I mean, keep is such a strong word, and really, can anyone own a person—”

“Tony.” The look on Obie’s face is rare—something almost close to pity. “Kid. You know I love you, but a child is…”

“I know, Obie.”

“No, I’m not sure you do. I happen to remember when your little terrorizing ass was much, much smaller. A tiny little you running around, can you imagine?”

He has been on and off for the past ten minutes, but he doesn’t say that out loud.

“Tony, I know for a fact you spent last night at a club in the Hills before coming home and falling into bed at four in the morning. Pepper complained about how she practically had to dress you herself because you took almost two hours to get out of bed. You really think you’re the type to change diapers and drive an SUV to soccer games?”

“It’s not—it won’t be that. Probably. Or maybe it will be, I don’t know! We haven’t really talked out the details yet, I just—” Tony sighs. “Obie, you know how my dad was.”

“Tony, your dad—”

“He built a company from nothing, he was a hero in World War II, he was best friends with Captain America, yadda yadda, so the history books say. But he was also cold, and calculating, and most importantly—never around or willing enough to give a _shit_ that I existed.”

That shuts Obie up, because he can’t deny it. Maybe Obadiah wasn’t there for all of Tony’s life, but he saw enough stern looks and heard enough drunken lectures to know the truth of it all. Howard Stark was a family man on paper, but much less true to the form of it when the cameras went away.

“I can’t be that to my kid, Obie. I won’t.” This is probably the first and only time Tony’s ever put his foot down when it comes to Obie, and by the look on the other man’s face, he recognizes that too. “Whatever this turns into...I have to be there for it.”

“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

Tony nods.

Obie is silent for a beat— long enough that Tony wonders if they’ll come to blows over it, if this is what will split up the profitable partnership of the Starks and Stane. When Obie looks back at Tony, though, it’s with a warmth Tony always thrives under—a quiet sort of pride and respect that Obie has when Tony does something unexpectedly responsible (and most often good for the company).

“Fine. I’ll drop it. _For now_ ,” Obie warns with a point of his finger across the desk just as a smile starts creeping up Tony’s face. “But if this starts to go sideways at any point, you call me. Day or night.”

Obie stands, polishing off the bourbon from his glass and handing it to Pepper as he opens the door and passes by her desk. “You keep an eye on him,” Obie warns. “And I want updates. If this really is my great-niece or nephew, I gotta start buying gifts and shit.”

“You mean your assistant has to!” Tony calls behind him with a smirk.

“You’re no better!” Obie calls back. And maybe Tony isn’t, but some part of him thinks that he’s going to have to be, soon. At the very least, for this kid, he has to try.

**March 19th, 2001**

Tony is tapping his fingers impatiently on the hospital coffee shop’s patio table, his eyes darting through the New York crowd from behind his dark and oversized sunglasses. He’s ten minutes early for meeting up with Mary—maybe one of the only times in his life he’s actually been early for something—and he’s not enjoying the anxiety that comes with waiting.

He checks his Blackberry, an old voicemail from Pepper and text from Rhodey wishing him luck taunting him as he tries to will a message from Mary into existence. He doesn’t even know if the woman has a phone that can text. Maybe he should buy her one. Is that overstepping a boundary? Probably, but he can’t handle not knowing what’s happening to her. God, is he going to become one of those helicopter parents? Will his kid hate him? Are they going to run off and require years of therapy to get over having Tony Stark as a father?

He is halfway into his pre-parental crisis when Mary comes up and stands across from him, looking more relaxed and not much bigger than when he last saw her. His confusion must show on his face, because Mary laughs as she sets down her purse.

“What, did you expect me to have a full-on baby belly?” she says lightly, and Tony is suddenly reminded of what drew him to her the night they met. She was charming, her face strikingly defined when she smiled, and her curls bounced with her laugh. 

She has a warm aura about her, and it comforts Tony to know that the baby in her belly is at least half hers. She seems like a genuinely good person—he’s sure she’ll do a good job at raising their kid.

_Their kid._

Tony shakes his head, pushing the thought from his mind as he pulls out Mary’s chair.

“I didn’t know what to expect, honestly. An article I read said that some women have baby bumps at ten weeks, so I wasn’t sure what you’d look like.”

Mary snorts, her hand resting on her stomach in a reflexive move that doesn’t slip past him. 

“Well, I have gone up two pants sizes, so I’m not exactly _not_ showing…for now it’s just the nausea and an odd craving for tuna salad that’s driving me up the wall.”

Tony nods at that, awkwardly tapping his foot as he stumbles for something to say. What do you say to the girl you knocked up that’s dealing with the pregnancy all by herself on the other side of the country?

“Is craving pickles and ice cream still a thing, or is that just in the movies?” he asks, cringing at the stupidity of the question. He’s never been so awkward in his life. Where’s his usual charm, the casual flirting that earned him his womanizing reputation?

“I haven’t had that particular craving yet,” she says with a laugh as she flags down a waiter and asks for a cup of tea. “The coffee strike is killing me though.”

“I think I would _die_ without coffee,” Tony says sympathetically, and Mary nods forlornly.

“I think that’s the thing I miss the most. Despite how we met, I’m not much of a party goer, so I’m not missing out on much there, but without my morning latte to get me through all this tiredness, I feel like a zombie.”

Tony hums in understanding as he relaxes into his own cup of black.

They breeze through some small chat about the company and recent scientific developments after that. Mary keeps surprising him—despite remembering most of their night together, he’d forgotten just how smart and engaging she was.

Eventually they make their way to her OB-GYN’s office on the upper levels of the hospital. Tony keeps a baseball cap pulled low and a scarf around his iconic goatee. He receives a few strange looks in the waiting room of the office, but New York is still chilly in the early months of the year, so he probably just looks like a health freak worried about contracting the flu or something.

Mary is slightly tense beside him, idly flipping through a magazine so old that a spread once done about himself and Obie is visible between the pages she’s clearly not actually reading. He realizes she must be nervous too. He’s trying to think of what to say to her but misses his chance when the nurse calls them back.

Tony feels awkward standing next to Mary as they take her blood pressure and draw some blood, but stays by her side throughout the process nonetheless. She’s flipping through a pamphlet on natal vitamins as Tony plays some 8-bit rendition of Tetris on his phone when a middle-aged woman comes through the door.

“Hello, Mary! It’s good to see you again. It’s nice to do an ultrasound for a friend,” she says with a smile. She turns to Tony, obviously prepared to see him and maintaining her professionalism. “And Mister Stark. How are you related to the little bundle we are going to be looking at today?”

“I—uh. I’m the—it’s mine,” he says dully, unsure of how else to introduce himself. The doctor seems to take this in stride though, shaking his hand warmly. “Of course, that’s not to be spread around yet. ”

“Yes, of course. I’m Doctor Koefed. I’m sure you must be excited to see your baby,” she says with a grin. She turns to Mary, pulling up a cart with a screen and some medical tools next to her. “Today, we will be listening for a heartbeat, checking some developmental progress, and I’m sure you’ll want pictures.”

Tony nods as Mary rolls her shirt up, his breath catching at the tiny bump that was hidden underneath. With her clothes, he hadn’t been able to see it, but she’s definitely bigger than when they met.

The doctor slathers some gel on the probe. Mary makes a joke about the cold gel while Tony watches in silence as it comes to settle on the tiny bump of her stomach. A soft rhythmic sound fills the room, and Tony pales as the doctor smiles.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

“And there it is! Strong and healthy,” Doctor Koefed says, but everything sounds muted except for the tiny heartbeat filling his ears.

A foreign feeling blooms in his chest, spreading through his veins like sunshine. He doesn’t know if he would call it joy—there are still nerves tied up in whatever the sensation is—but it’s ultimately the most remarkable feeling he’s ever experienced. It takes his breath away.

His eyes wander to the monitor in front of the doctor, lingering on the small, colorless little bean on the screen.

_My kid._

_That’s my kid._

He lets out a stutter of a laugh, a wide smile blooming on his face as his eyes start to blur with tears. He hears Mary let out a soft laugh too, and he’s surprised to see her looking at him.

“What?” he breathes, unable to stop the overwhelming feeling inside of him from spilling into his voice.

“Nothing. It’s just...” Mary laughs a little, smiling at him with the same brightness he feels on his face. “I’ve never seen you smile like that. I’ve seen your face everywhere—billboards, television, magazines...but it’s never looked like that.”

Tony swallows down the weight of her words. No, he probably never has looked like this. He’s never felt this intense feeling of awe-struck _something_ before in his life. It’s the best feeling he’s ever experienced while simultaneously being the most terrifyingly intense feeling he’s ever had, and he doesn’t think anything will ever amount to it again.

Maybe this kid will prove him wrong.

**April 18th, 2001**

Tony’s used to being interrupted in his workshop. It’s literally Pepper’s job to nag him about all of the things he should be doing because otherwise he will absolutely forget, because he’s Tony Stark and there’s a lot going on in his head from moment to moment.

Like right now, for example: his child. His kid is the size of an orange, growing little eyes and ears. Considering his first words seeing the child’s new ultrasound were—to quote himself—an awed, “ _Holy shit_ ,” he’s gonna have to start watching his mouth or the kid’s first word is gonna be a curse.

He’d known to expect Mary’s more obviously pregnant belly this visit—thank you more intensive internet research—but actually seeing it was something else.

He’d spent the entire flight to New York work-shopping the plans for new heat-seeking technology. The DOD was expecting a presentation later this week, and he’d truthfully been slacking on...well, just about everything, lately, much to Obie’s frustration.

So he’d finally refocused his brain on Stark Industries business long enough to take his mind off of his upcoming fatherhood, and it’d been just enough of a mental slip that when he met Mary at her OB-GYN’s office in New York again, he promptly almost fell down the hospital’s front steps at seeing her expanded abdomen. (He rarely gets embarrassed, but yeah, missing a step and almost knocking down someone’s grandmother? Not his proudest moment.)

It shouldn’t surprise him anymore, his growing recognition at the reality of this situation, but it still seems to keep coming. One day there was nothing, and now they’re creeping closer to an entire _someone_ , a whole little person that’s half-Tony. He keeps catching himself staring down at the new ultrasound photo, taped right next to the first photo on one of his workshop computer screens.

It’s because of this that he’s so surprisingly interrupted—not by Pepper, who usually knocks or announces herself with the sharp clicking of her heels—but by Obadiah, who greets Tony with a friendly shake to his shoulder.

He really needs to get on building that house-running AI system. Guest announcing, stopping people from just waltzing into his mansion, reminding him of Pepper’s reminders—all the perks of a butler without the demeaning classism.

“Good to see you, kid,” Obie says, a smile evident in his voice. “Pepper says you’ve been down here all morning. Glad you’re back on track for the presentation tomorrow. I gotta admit, this last week had me worried, but I knew— _I knew_ if you saw the girl and knew your future heir was okay, you’d get back on the stick again. Was I right, or was I right?”

Quickly, Tony whirls his desk chair around, hoping to block his completely bare desktop.

“Yep, yeah, Obie, right as always. Working hard, getting ready. Honestly, I’m so busy, I don’t have much time for small talk, so you should probably—”

Obie’s not the most technologically savvy person in the world—getting the man to switch from a flip phone to a Blackberry was one of the most frustrating experiences that the higher-ups of SI had to undertake. Still, he knows exactly what Tony’s ostentatious hot rod computer wallpaper looks like. (Not to mention the tidiness of Tony’s desk. Everyone always knows when he’s actually working because he suddenly becomes an expert in organized chaos and starts living off of coffee instead of whiskey.)

But Tony wasn’t thinking about that. Not the presentation. Not attempting to look busy, which only ever fooled Obie half of the time and never managed to fool Pepper. Not even about drinking.

This unborn kid has taken up most of his time and mental space, and it’s not even born yet.

“Tony…” Obie growls, placing one of his palms on the chair so that Tony can’t spin away from his frustrated glare like he was absolutely attempting to do.

“What? Obie, it’s fine I’m—I always pull through, don’t I? C’mon, it’s me!”

“Is this what I get for trying to be understanding? I put up with a lot from you, and _the one time_ I try to be lenient and leave you to your own devices, this is the thanks I get?”

“Maybe you’ve just damaged my process. Really, you being on my ass all of the time has actually conditioned me to be lazier when you aren’t around—”

Obie’s responding glare communicates that the attempted joke landed flat, so he stops before he finishes it. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I just—this fatherhood thing is a lot and—”

“You’re the one who asked for this responsibility,” Obie replies. “I gave you _multiple_ ways out, and you said _no_. I told you it would be hard, and like always, you took on more than you could handle. Imagine when the kid’s actually here, Tony! You can’t just hop off to New York and see it whenever you want. You have responsibilities to this company, to _me_.”

“I know that,” Tony responds, affronted. He’d actually done quite an impressive amount of work—more than his usual, actually—on the trip to New York. Not that Obie would know, because he didn’t ask. Not about the trip, or Tony’s actual amount of progress, or anything about Mary or the child she’s carrying.

“Then act like it. Stop getting all sappy about being a good parent and finish the goddamn tech like a good CEO.” With those words, Obie storms out of the workshop, grumbling to himself audibly through the glass door and as he stomps up the stairs to Tony’s living room.

Tony sighs, leaning his full weight back into the desk chair and staring up at the ceiling. These shouting matches with his unofficial uncle always leave him sore from clenching his muscles and even less motivated to work than he was before they started.

It doesn’t help that this whole work-life balance thing is exactly what Tony’s been worrying about lately—why his concentration at the office has lessened, why he’s missing more meetings despite not touching a drop of alcohol the night before. Spending all night partying isn’t good for a kid, and neither is missing every important event in the kid’s life because he’s at work states away, as Obie would gladly have him do. He’s got to figure it out. He has to make it right for everyone involved: Mary, Obie, and most importantly, his future child.

In his usual state of not knowing what to do because he rarely ever makes the choices people want him to, Tony makes plans to meet up with Rhodey after the presentation tomorrow.

**April 19th, 2001**

“When you said you wanted to get dinner, I didn’t realize it was going to be a _liquid_ dinner,” Rhodey comments dryly, watching Tony throw back his second scotch since arriving at the over-priced steakhouse. 

Honestly, Tony could have ordered Kobe beef from Japan and cooked it himself for less than a reservation here costs. Still, they serve a decent wine selection—important to Rhodey, because somewhere in college he started learning things about wine to impress girls and accidentally became some kind of sommelier savant—and they have private dining rooms so that no reporters will catch wind of Tony Stark’s future heir from their conversation.

Eventually someone is going to catch on to his trips to New York. They’ll definitely notice when he starts pushing a little kid with Mary’s auburn hair and his eyes around in a stroller. Still, for now it’s a closely kept secret, and he’ll keep it that way until Pepper prepares an announcement that sounds more professional than, “Oops, I knocked up a grieving widow nine months ago, welcome the newest Stark to the world that I didn’t mention before now.”

“It’s good—I’m good. Just stressed. I’m not—it’s not that kind of night, okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Rhodey says with his usual worn-in disbelief. He’s probably not convinced by the circles Tony knows are sitting heavily under his eyes. In his haste to get Obie off of his back and in turn blow the minds of every military officer including Rhodey that sat in on his presentation, Tony sacrificed sleep completely.

Honestly, Rhodey’s presence is the only thing keeping him both awake and from bouncing off of the walls from caffeine excess.

“I’m serious,” Tony insists. He’s not that person anymore—okay, fine, he’s _trying_ not to be that person anymore, and it’s going surprisingly well. 

He just needed a drink—a couple of drinks, just to chill out his hyperactivity and numb the stupid way he feels whenever Obie shows him off to their contract-holders like he did after his hot mess of a presentation actually went well. Unlike his dad, Obie actually does repay Tony’s success with kudos and a lot of bragging about how SI is lucky to have Tony around, but it’s clashing with the words about his child from the night before this time, so it’s pissing him off.

Yeah, he has father figure issues. He knows that’s going to be a whole thing down the line with his kid. He’s working on that too. Apparently _that’s_ not something Obie’s particularly proud of him for.

Rhodey sighs. “Okay, spill, what is it? I know you, Tones. After a presentation that only I can tell you pulled directly out of your ass, you should be tap dancing across the tables.”

“I don’t tap dance,” Tony replies, earning an unimpressed stare. “Yeah, yeah, okay, Platypus, you’re the Tony Stark expert of the world, we all bow to your prowess, and so on.”

“As always, but you’re still not answering my question.”

“And pointing out my classic avoidance techniques. You really are on it today, buddy.”

“Tony.”

“Look, it’s just—something Obie said last night.”

“I thought you said you don’t listen to anything Obie says—you once described his rants as the equivalent of when the adults from the _Peanuts_ cartoon talk.”

Tony smiles to himself briefly, because he’s hilarious. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“So? What’s different?”

“He said I couldn’t handle it—this whole fatherhood thing on top of the CEO thing. And I’m worried that he’s right.”

“I thought the whole point of Obadiah was because you couldn’t handle the CEO thing _before_ any of the stuff with your kid started.”

“Hardy-har.”

“No, I’m serious, look,” Rhodey leans forward, just missing getting a little bit of steak sauce on his dress blues, the jacket on his chair and the sleeves underneath exposed to the food elements around them. “You’ve never been the best at the business stuff. So what? Tony, I know how hard you work for the company. I also know how hard you’re trying to be there for this kid. You don’t have to do it all. That’s why you have us around.”

“Tell that to Obie,” Tony grumbles into his glass, bereft of scotch and now mostly melted ice.

“He’s always put the business first. He never got married, never had kids. Stark Industries is his baby. You’re a close second. That was his choice. You’re allowed to make a different one.”

“I never wanted any of that either, before.”

“And now?”

Tony shrugs. His child is on his mind most of the time now, and it’s usually in a more positive way than negative. His anxieties about being a good parent are constantly eating at him, but most of the time he just leans into the warm, foreign feeling he’s had blooming in his chest since the moment he first heard his kid’s heartbeat.

“Let me put it this way: how are things with Mary?”

Tony shrugs again. “Good, I guess. As nice as it can be when two relative strangers are having a kid together. It’s mostly drinking tea together and going to doctor’s appointments.”

“But could it be something more? Is that something you want? Is it something she wants?”

He hasn’t really thought about it. It seemed like something that should stay completely off of his radar. Then again, that was what you were supposed to do in these situations, wasn’t it? That whole saying about doing the right thing, marrying the pregnant girl to make it honest? He’d always figured it was a bit of an antiquated practice, but maybe it’s something she’s expecting of him, at some point.

Not to mention, he’s Tony Stark. Even if he dropped the title of CEO tomorrow and left the company, he has founding shares from both of his parents. He could cash out and live a happy life with Mary, make sure she and his kid are comfortable until the end of their days.

Obie might be happier if he got to do everything his way. Pepper wouldn’t have to deal with him all the time. Maybe that’s what he’s been missing. Maybe the solution is to just pick one thing to be good at, to go all in on being normal in a way he’s never done before.

“You don’t have to know right now,” Rhodey says, reaching across the table to squeeze Tony’s arm comfortingly. “I’m just saying, you have choices in front of you, and whatever you do, you’re going to have people on your side.”

“You can say it’s mostly going to be you, you know.”

“I’m about to be Uncle Rhodey, the coolest and best uncle in the world, so obviously. But Pepper’s pretty fond of you too. And Obie won’t disown you if you give him the entire company. Probably.”

They both smile, the banter a familiar game between them to get lost in. Tony raises his empty glass, toasting Rhodey’s wine and resolving to figure it all out after he isn’t on the high of sleep deprivation and being filled with steak and scotch.

**April 21st, 2001**

Tony stumbles into his bedroom at 3:12 AM, his world blurry and breath rank with vodka and whiskey. He’s deep into a binge, and not because it was one of his favorite party days of the year just a few hours prior. He didn’t even leave his mansion today. He’d been a good boy, trying to hold it together and stick to his sobriety. 

Then came _TMZ_.

For the most part, it was their regular evening broadcast—i.e., trash—which Tony only watched because he wanted to see what everyone else was doing this 4/20 while he was trying to do the whole ‘becoming a better, more sober person’ thing.

Justin Timberlake had been blowing up his phone about some party in the Hills, and he had the rare opportunity to watch the chaos from afar instead of participating. Besides, late at night, what else was on except reruns? 

It went from a stunningly tone deaf exposé on a starlette’s privacy being violated by a reporter to a blaring voiceover about said party.

_Next up on TMZ: Justin Timberlake hosted a star-studded party in the Hills—edibles included. However, Britney Spears was notably missing from the event. Is this a signal of a lovers’ quarrel or a permanent split?_

_“Speaking of who didn’t show—where the hell was Tony Stark?”_ The newsroom host asked with a flourish _. “Aren’t he and Timberlake buddies ever since Stark drunkenly danced along to_ Bye, Bye, Bye _at a club opening they both went to a few months back?”_

The hosts (and Tony himself) laughed at the memory.

 _“He’s been quiet for months,”_ a sleazeball with greased-back hair said to the room.

A busty blonde with a recognizably fake tan laughed. _“He’s been absent from the dating scene, that’s for sure. I haven’t had an ‘anonymous source’ talk about his sexual exploits in so long, California singles are worried he’s gone celibate!”_

Tony snorted, but not for the same reason the rest of the newsroom laughed. Normally they were obsessed with calling him a man whore, but suddenly he wasn’t sleeping around with anything in a skirt, and he’s now completely celibate?

He was about to turn off the TV and sleep for the night when he caught the last line of the segment delivered by the quote-unquote host of the roundtable.

_“It’s probably for the better. At least that way he doesn’t ruin another poor girl’s life. Remember that poor, heartbroken model from Belarus? Her blog post about their night together almost made me cry! I mean—is one night with him really even worth the heartache?”_

Usually Tony didn’t pay attention to shows like TMZ after years of dealing with trashy media outlets, but that… _that_ stung.

_...Am I ruining Mary’s life?_

He ran the thought off with a shot, trying to rid himself of the tight feeling in his chest.

Stress and addiction are tricky though, and one shot quickly became two, then three, then six. Suddenly his liquor cabinet was nearing empty and he couldn't feel his toes.

God, he’s a fuck up. He’s fucking _everything_ up.

It’s time to do something right for a change.

He falls sloppily onto the side of his bed, his fingers shakily going through his contacts and selecting Mary’s name. He doesn’t give thought to the time difference—he can’t lose the nerve his liquid courage has granted him.

He can’t stop thinking about it—what Rhodey said, the possibility that Mary might want something more, that _he_ might want something more.

He can’t help the daydream that’s been sprouting in his head of a whole life he’s never allowed himself to consider. It’s far more appealing than he ever would have admitted in the past, something he would definitely never admit to anyone else now.

“Hello...?” A groggy voice mumbles after the third ring, and Tony freezes at the sound. He must hesitate for a moment too long, because he hears her shifting.

“Tony? Are you—”

“M’ry…Mary. Hey. It’s...’s T’ny,” he slurs, feeling his tongue stumble through the greeting.

“Yeah...I know. Why are you calling so late? Is everything okay?”

“We should get…you need to be…” He loses the words halfway through, so he digs his nails into his palms to gain some clarity. “Fuck.”

“Tony, are you drunk right now?” Mary asks in quiet exasperation, and Tony flushes with shame.

“I wasn’t—wasn’t out. I just—need to be cl’ser to you. To th’ baby. I’m too far.” All the way across the country. Miles and miles and miles. There’s always too much space between Tony and the things he wants, _really_ wants, and he’s tired of it.

“Tony—”

“No, no, l’sten. I haven’…haven’t done this right. You…you’re up there al’ne. All alone. And this kid… I-I _love_ this kid… an’ I’m—’m half,” Tony barely holds in a hiccup, because he’s trying to communicate something important here, damn it. “M’ half-assing it. I need…I need t’ whole ass this. Whole ass. All...all in.”

He takes a deep breath, trying to sober up.

“I need to—to do right by you, Mary. I need to, like, buy a condo up there, take the whole company there...I need—I gotta marry you. We gotta—”

“Tony, stop—”

“No, I gotta—listen. This is important, we need…this kid needs a _family_ , Mary. We gotta be a family. Good family.”

Mary pauses for a few moments as he catches his breath, and he feels his heart staccato in his chest as each second passes.

It wasn’t something he even thought he wanted until...well, until after he’d started talking to Rhodey. And maybe it’s only been days, but it’s right, isn’t it? For once, can’t Tony do something _right_?

“Tony, you don’t love me,” she says softly, but with absolute certainty.

“I could learn to,” he whispers back, desperation slipping into his tone. 

Over time, he could love her laugh, her wit, her scientific mind. He could watch her with their child and create true love, create the family he never had but for his mother, but for Edwin and Ana Jarvis. He could buy the house with the white picket fence in a good school district and be that man, fit into that life. 

He could. 

He can. 

_Can’t he?_

Mary laughs a little, not cruelly, but it stings just the same.

“Tony, you don’t just—decide to fall in love with someone, not even if they’re having your baby. We don’t need to get married or be some kind of... _nuclear family_ for this child. All we need to do is love this baby. And I know you do. You’ve proven that.”

If there’s any balm to her words, it’s that he does love the baby. More than he’ll probably ever be able to love her. And maybe that’s what Mary knows: that his whole, unadulterated love for this future child is more real than anything he could try to piece together for her.

“And I know you are going to do a great job as a dad,” she continues, and he wonders where she gets it—that kindness and compassion for the sloppy drunken mess that is someone like him. He wants that to go to their child, if nothing else. “If you want to be closer, that’s fine, but no matter where you are, we will make our lives work for this baby, because that’s what parents do. Just be here, be present, and be loving. That’s all that I want from you.”

A tear slips from his eye before he can stop it, his gaze unfocused and hazy as it drifts towards the picturesque nighttime view of the sea outside his bedroom balcony.

He nods, even though Mary can’t see it. Just like he accepts her rejection even if he doesn’t want to.

“Go to bed, Tony. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

As the dial tone fills his ears, he shatters.

A sob tears from his throat, taking with it the vision of his baby playing in a suburban front yard, the two-story dream home with granite countertops protecting them from the rest of the world, and the scene of he and Mary sitting on the porch, their hands intertwined.

That was Richard Parker’s future.

He’s Tony Stark, and Stark men are made of iron and born of fire. 

They don’t get perfect endings kindly saturated in sunlight before the credits roll.

He stares at the ultrasound picture on his nightstand until he blacks out.

**May 24th, 2001**

The thing about being a genius is that things tend to stick with you.

For example, he had the brief thought about creating a house-running artificial intelligence a few months ago, and when given a short relief from the last SI assignment, he got deep, _deep_ into the project.

No showering, no sleeping, so focused that Pepper definitely refilled his coffee cup a few times and he only noticed when it went cold again, deep.

But he hasn’t gotten arrested for public indecency, and he hasn’t had a drink since his mistake of a night in April. That’s a good thing. In fact, you could say this behavior is healthy for him, even!

He’s definitely so engrossed in the project that he’s not thinking about the things he said on the night he drank himself to sleep. Nope, not thinking about that at all.

But it’s not avoidance. There’s really nothing to avoid. He’s just...being busy with his free time and not having to address the problem. From the busy-ness.

It’s not unsurprising that Mary calls more than once before he actually notices that his cell phone is vibrating against his thigh.

Considering the thing he’s not thinking about, he thought he’d be more hesitant when she called again. It’s just instinct now, though, to pick up when she calls, to worry and fuss over her in a way he really hasn’t ever done with another woman—another _person_ before.

It’s when he realizes it is currently the middle of the night in New York that he feels his breath catch.

He fumbles with his Blackberry, hitting the answer button with shaky fingers.

“Mary? Mary what’s—”

“They kicked!”

Tony blinks in confusion, trying to slow his racing heart. Is this just what being a parent is _like_ , all the time? Worrying about every little thing? Thank god he doesn't have heart issues.

"Huh?" is his terrible, sleep-deprived reply. He course-corrects, rubbing his eyes and rolling back from his desk. 

“What, the baby? Isn't that what they're supposed to be doing?” Tony asks, eyes traveling to the desk calendar that keeps a record of Mary's pregnancy milestones, indicating she's around the nineteenth week. That's how Mary and everyone else should know he's deeply invested in all this—he bought a parenting book so that he would look a little bit less like a moron that has no clue what pregnant women are like.

“Tony,” Mary sighs in exasperation, but he can hear the lilt of a smile in her voice. At least his cluelessness is amusing. "This is a big deal!"

"No, yeah, absolutely. Got it. Big moment," he tries. It's not that it shouldn't be, it's just...harder to understand when he's not actually there for it. 

He thinks of buying property in New York again. Despite Mary's claims to his drunken self at the time, he's convinced that, at least, is an idea that will stick.

“You need to come and feel it!” Mary insists. Despite hooking up as strangers, she still sees through him sometimes in a way other people don't. Maybe it's just who she is. Wherever it comes from, she seems to catch that things are rarely as real for him, as mentally present, until he really experiences them for himself.

Tony rubs at his days-old stubble, checking the clock. 11:23 PM. He doesn't have any pressing meetings this week—hence his freedom to work on the house AI project—but he's definitely supposed to go over some paperwork with Pepper that he's been ignoring. Not to mention that Rhodey will be flying in tomorrow morning, and he's promised to do one of their usual catch-up sessions while watching the Kings game.

“Yeah. Sure, Mary," he decides in the moment, the etches of a plan coming together in front of him. Why have a personal assistant if he can't cart her around at his will? And doesn't Rhodey just love that one Mexican-fusion joint in Brooklyn? “I’ll charter my plane and be out tomorrow, okay?"

"Charter my plane," Mary teases, and yeah, okay, she's financially stable, but they still live in practically different worlds.

"Ouch."

She laughs. "No, really, that’s fine. Tony it’s amazing. You're going to just—melt,” Mary assures brightly, and Tony feels warm at the idea. Maybe this is bigger than he thought.

**May 25th, 2001**

Rhodey sighs heavily into his disposable coffee cup.

“I cannot believe that I just got off of a flight from DC, and you’re somehow trying to convince me that I would want to get back on one towards New York just because you asked.”

“Hey, flying with me beats first-class any day of the week and you know it,” Tony replies, shades affixed over his face to cover the large dark circles under his eyes that he’s sure his best friend is aware of regardless. “Shut up and drink your coffee, Platypus. I paid five dollars for it.”

It’s a drop in the bucket, and they both know he has far better brew options in his personal kitchen at the mansion, but rather than say that, Rhodey simply rolls his eyes.

“Seriously, man, I don’t want to go to New York. I just got back from active duty. The last thing I want to do is be near any more planes right now. I just want to go home, do my laundry, sit with my dog, and drink a beer. Is that too much to ask?”

“You have a dog? No, you don’t have a dog—I would know if you had a dog.”

“I dog-sit for my neighbor when I’m home. It’s a golden retriever, and also none of your business.”

“It should be. Immediately. Tell me about this dog and its presumably attractive owner that you may or may not be getting in the pants of.”

“Tony—“

“Boys,” Pepper cuts in primly. It’s eight in the morning and she’s already pressed and prepared for the cross-country flight, armed with a stack of paperwork in her briefcase and rolling an immaculately packed suitcase for both herself and him behind her. Where the woman gets the time and energy, he’ll never know and be forever grateful for.

Behind her trails Happy, steadfastly sipping his iced coffee and similar to Tony, hiding his tired eyes behind his sunglasses.

“Just so you know, I don’t appreciate this short-notice flight crap either,” Happy comments, joining Rhodey in the apparent Let’s Shit On Tony This Morning parade.

Pepper shoos them all forward. “C’mon, the pilot’s waiting.”

Rhodey drains his coffee while very purposefully glaring at Tony, but joins them up the stairs anyway, dragging along his battered army satchel like he doesn’t have the muscles to bear its weight.

Happy has his headphones on and neck pillow in place before the rest of them are even on the plane.

“As I was saying,” Tony says primly, allowing himself to fall into one of the cushy chairs and kicking his feet up over the arms just so. “I need you to come. And not just for your favorite chilaquiles—though they are fantastic.”

The pilot announces that they’re preparing for take-off, and Pepper subtly smacks his feet down on the way to her own seat across from him.

Tony buckles his seatbelt exaggeratedly at her, holding it out in a silent, _Happy now?_ gesture.

Tony swears if Rhodey keeps rolling his eyes this morning, they’re going to get stuck all weird. That’s a thing, isn’t it?

“Mary called last night,” Tony continues.

The inside of the plane goes silent but for the sound of the engines and Happy’s soft, falling-into-sleep breaths.

Rhodey immediately strains against his seatbelt, sitting to attention in that military way he had drilled into him all the way back in high school ROTC before they met. 

“What’s wrong, is she…? Sorry, I was being kind of a dick, I didn’t realize it was so—of course I should go, what’s wrong?“

“The baby kicked,” Tony replies, smiling at Rhodey’s rushed apologies.

“I take all of that back.” Rhodey lets out a breath, winded. “Jesus Christ, I almost had a heart attack, you can’t _do_ that shit, man!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Tony laughs half-heartedly, then forces himself to sober. This is important, and he’s trying to get better at not taking the piss out of everything in his life to avoid being emotional, lately. 

“Seriously, though. Mary’s been pregnant for nineteen weeks, and you still haven’t met her. And since you’re going to be in the baby’s life—and by extension, hers—I figured we should remedy that. For both of you.”

Both Rhodey and Pepper visibly soften. 

Happy has officially entered dreamland if his snoring means anything, but he supposes his future kid will be seeing a lot of that, too, so it’s just as well. Happy started working on setting up local SI security around Queens as soon as Tony announced his choice to leave, so Happy knows where they’re going and probably has a pretty good guess as to who lives there.

Pepper plays with the pen in her hand, signaling anxiety. It’s one of her only tells, only shown when she’s comfortable showing her worry at all.

“Are you sure it’s okay that we’re going?” she asks. “I mean, I’m glad—honored, really—that you want to share this with us, but what about Mary? Doesn’t it seem intrusive if she asked you to come and we just kind of...show up?”

Tony shrugs. He hadn’t really considered that, but he doesn’t see it as much of a problem, either. “Mary’s...she’ll be okay with it. Probably. She’s—she’ll understand. And it doesn’t really matter, because I’m not gonna budge on this one. I...I need you guys. I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you helping me out. You’re my family, the baby’s family...you should be there. That’s it.”

Pride is something more foreign to Tony, considering his father, Obie, the things he did that certainly rarely earned such a thing. But in front of him are two of his best friends, and they’re glowing with it, smiling in tandem at each other, probably thinking sappy stuff about how far he’s come or whatever.

“Then we’ll be there,” Rhodey confirms, giving a few friendly, encouraging pats to his knee.

“Good,” Tony replies. “Because we’re already in the air, and this thing is kind of a bitch to do a U-turn in, you know?”

Rhodey and Pepper share another look, this time more familiar: painstakingly reluctant at the man they’ve chosen to call a friend.

That’s more like it.

One coast-to-coast flight and a horribly slow car ride later, the group finds themselves on Mary’s doorstep in the heart of Queens.

“I’m just saying, we’re Stark Industries, we tackle world-changing problems!”

“If you bring up the flying car thing one more time, bro—”

“Maybe dear old dad had it right! Anything has to be better than that complete _cluster_ —”

Mary’s door opens before Pepper finishes raising her fist to knock on Unit 42.

“Hi,” she states, leaning against the doorframe. She’s definitely changed more since he last saw her. The swell of her stomach is more pronounced, other parts of her anatomy changed that he definitely doesn’t ogle. “I could hear you guys all the way down the hall.” She quirks her head at him. “Flying cars? Seriously?”

“You live in New York. You’ve seen the traffic. I rest my case.”

Tony feels a light kick to his ankle—definitely Rhodey. He kicks back, determined to have the last word, last...whatever.

Pepper notices even if Mary doesn’t, shaking Mary’s hand and taking the attention away from their silent spat. 

“I know we met when you first came to Stark Industries, but I feel like I never really got to introduce myself. I’m Virginia Potts, but everyone calls me Pepper, and yes, it’s Tony’s fault—don’t put him in charge of naming the baby.”

“Hey.”

“Nice to see you again, Miss Potts,” Mary replies, switching her gaze to Happy next.

“Happy Hogan—I’m Tony’s bodyguard. I’ll be out here if you need me,” he says with a nod, and Mary smiles. She turns to Rhodey and the smile widens.

“You must be James. I’ve heard a lot about you from Tony.”

“Some of it was probably true,” Rhodey answers, taking his turn to shake Mary’s hand. “Though it’s Tony, so, you know.”

“ _Hey._ ”

“It’s good to see you too, Tony,” Mary obliges to his protest, opening the door further to lead them into the apartment.

It’s not a shabby place by any measure. Not that he expected it would be—geneticist, Oscorp, blah, blah, blah. Still, it’s different from a lot of upper-crust homes he’s visited over the years. It’s all hardwood and arching doorways, warm accenting furniture that’s clearly been used. The couch they’re seated on has cracks in the leather, the cups Mary serves them tea in have a few scratches and chips—a little busted, but oft used and well-loved.

Mary sighs into her own armchair, taking a long sip of her drink before saying, “This should kick off—ha—the main event. The cinnamon always gets them going.” She rubs at her belly gently, as if encouraging the child along.

“How has it been?” Pepper asks, busying her hands with fixing both her own tea and Tony’s. He’s perfectly capable, but he’s not exactly going to tell her to stop in the middle of a conversation. She’s such a busy-body anyway, she’d probably shoo him away. “From what Tony told us, everything’s on track? Healthy? Happy?”

“On track and healthy, yes. Happy…” Mary sighs. “Depends on the day, honestly. I mean, not like I’m regretting anything or upset at the baby, just—” Mary shakes her head. “Stupid work stuff. Sorry, you don’t need to hear about it.”

“No, go ahead,” Tony insists, thinking solemnly that she doesn’t really have anyone else in her life to tell since she doesn’t talk to Richard’s side of the family.

Mary leans back into her chair, hands resting on her belly and stroking in what has to be a self-soothing motion she’s developed since he last saw her.

“It’s just—it was easier, when I wasn’t so, you know…”

“Pregnant.”

“Yeah. People treated me the same, work went on as usual...then this happened and loose-fitting tops and my lab coat just weren’t cutting it anymore. And it’s not like I want to hide it! I love this kid so much already.” She nods to Tony. “You know how it is.”

Oh, does he. He just nods.

“But when people see me pregnant...they ask questions. Richard wasn’t gone long before I—before we...people ask sometimes, and it just—it sucks. I hate it. I don’t want anyone to know it’s yours until you have that whole press _thing_ figured out, but I don’t want to lie and say the father isn’t in the picture, either, because I do actually like the people I work with. I don’t want to lie to them.”

Tony has learned that there are some cases in which people want you to listen and give advice. This is not one of those cases. Tony has had to keep the secret too, sure, but he’s had his family and friends to lean on. Mary...doesn’t really have that.

Instead, he offers, “I wish I could do something about it, but nosey people are sadly up my ass almost every single day, so I know they rarely change.”

Mary laughs, which is something. Then she stops and goes completely still, and oh god, please don’t let anything be wrong, he’s going to stroke out before this kid ever gets here—

She breaks into a smile, leaning forward and tapping at Tony’s hand. “C’mere, it’s kicking, come on!”

“Okay, okay,” he grumbles, letting her manhandle him over to her belly and moving his hand around like it’s the ultrasound wand. It’s an awkward silence as she keeps trying to position him, but eventually he feels the tiny kicks of pressure against his palm through the thin material of her t-shirt.

It’s a small movement, but it still makes the warmth in Tony’s chest grow. Once again, his heart seems to burst into a feeling solely associated with the tiny little person against his hand. He swallows the emotion that’s buried in his throat, smiling as he chases the feeling, hoping another kick will follow. It does, a little stronger this time, and Tony beams.

“Hey, kiddo…” he says under his breath, realizing this is the first time he’s actually spoken to the tiny person that has turned his life inside out in the best of ways. “It’s me. Your dad. How you doin’ in there?”

“Amazing, right?” Mary says with a knowing smile, and Tony can only nod in agreement. He waits a few seconds for it to happen again, maybe being a little greedy with how much he’s demanding of the little bundle in Mary’s stomach, but hey—it’s his kid.

When another kick doesn’t follow, he flicks Mary’s stomach, whispering a soft, “Come on, kid, one more time…”

Mary snorts, and Tony looks up to see her looking down at him in amusement.

“What?” 

“You just flicked me.”

“No, I was flicking the _baby_ ,” he says bluntly, flicking her belly again.

“My autonomy as a separate being still exists, but okay,” she snorts.

Tony raises his hands in defeat, but Mary pulls them back good-naturedly and places them on the swell of her abdomen again. She holds his palm against the same spot he was before, sipping her tea once again. Sure enough, after a beat another little kick comes, and Tony revels in it.

This was worth it, flying out to New York at the asscrack of dawn and dragging his friends across the country. All of it was worth it for this tiny thump against his palm. It’s a little thing, just a kick, but Tony realizes he's glad Mary called. It might be a tiny achievement, but he still wants to be here for it. He wants to be here for all of it—the first kick, the first diaper change, the first bath—all of these little things will happen hundreds of times, but he wants to be there for as many as possible.

Because the small things are nice.

Because he loves this kid.

He sniffs back the emotion threatening to overcome him, waving his friends over to take turns pressing their palms against Mary’s stomach. They coo and aww, whispering and introducing themselves to the baby just as he had. They look at him with wet eyes, as if all of this has become more real to them too just by seeing Tony in this moment.

After they all settle back into their seats, Tony reaches back for his tea. He was going to drink it like a normal human being, but after the whole emotional roller coaster that was the baby kicking, he realizes he wants a moment with Mary alone. He tips a little on his tie, letting Mary lead him to the bathroom to clean up.

His night of drunken confession still isn’t sitting well. Maybe he shouldn’t have said a lot of things, but there was truth in some parts, and shouldn’t they hash that sort of thing out before the baby is here and living in an unstable household with messy, unmarried parents? Even if it’s just as a legal thing, it might be worth it to discuss.

He may also be spiraling a little, as he always does after thinking about his child’s impending arrival.

He takes his time wiping at the stain on his tie with water from the bathroom sink. “Listen, Mary, I just wanted to say, about the other night…”

She shakes her head, like there’s a magic way to scrub at the self-imposed stain he’s an idiot not to know about. She’s going to be a good mother.

“Tony, you don’t have to—”

“No, I really think I do—”

“Stop,” she insists, holding him by the shoulders. “You were drunk, and sad, and deeply into your own bullshit. That’s okay. We know where we stand now, and we’ll move past it. Right?”

Her tone brooks no argument. She’s decided what he meant, and is asking him to go along with it, to take back any other part of it to save whatever parental relationship they’re going to have to have for the rest of their lives.

“Right,” he agrees, swallowing down any foolish part of him that thinks fighting for this was a good idea.

He has Mary in his life as a friend/co-parent. He has Rhodey, Pepper, Happy, and Obie at home and on call whenever he needs them. A possible romantic entanglement dropping is nothing compared to the real human child he’s having in a few too-short months.

Not to mention, when he considers the surrounding apartment as they leave the bathroom...the one person Mary had herself is everywhere he looks: a pair of glasses gathering dust on the end table, a pile of threadbare cardigans pooling out of an open box, picture frames turned facedown on the mantle.

Richard Parker was here, still _is_ here haunting Mary’s pregnancy with another man.

Because this was supposed to be Richard’s life: not picturesque mirages attained from movies and books but something simple and good and formed from his own hands. His three bedroom apartment in Queens with his wife of years, preparing for his beautiful child, a life of peace and joy and scientific discoveries ahead of them.

Mary hasn’t let him go. Tony didn’t expect her to, but this...it’s like walking through a museum, faced with the man he isn’t and can never live up to at every turn. Exhibit A, in the kitchen, a mug with Richard’s name inscribed on the side. Exhibit B, the study, thick, dusty tomes spilling from packing boxes, clearly abandoned. Exhibit C, intricately labeled _X-Files_ VHS tapes displayed proudly even though Mary hates science fiction. On and on and on and telling Tony that he is a lucky man for what he has, but that his flighty dreams of building something with Mary will never compare to what she already had before he ever entered her life.

Mary Fitzpatrick is still a Parker at heart, if not in name, and he’s not going to ask for that piece of her when he already has so much in the form of their child.

He’s going to be a father. That’s more than enough.

**May 31st, 2001**

Tony stifles a yawn as he sits in the OB-GYN's waiting room. 

He’s been in town for the last week, picking out a permanent New York penthouse and settling furnishing and decoration choices. He met up with Mary a few times, glad for her help when it came to shopping around for things to put inside the over-sized apartment that a baby might need, including but not limited to a few rugs, a rocking chair, and a special edition copy of his favorite childhood story, _The Tale of Peter Rabbit_. It came with an adorable stuffed bunny that Mary loved, the book being one of her favorites as well, and they decided it would be the baby’s first stuffed animal.

Now they’re back at New York Presbyterian, Mary reading a baby magazine with a publishing year of 1998 next to him. This appointment is early in the morning, but he’s here just like he was for the others, two cups of coffee in his system and his disguise impeccable as always. The caffeine isn’t helping his nerves, but he supposes he is slowly getting used to the constant anxiety surrounding the little person growing inside of the woman next to him anyway. At the very least, he’s freaking out less at every appointment. This time, he might even say he’s more excited than nervous, because this appointment is a big one.

This is the day they learn the baby’s gender.

Mary had decided she wanted to know, and Tony was relieved, because he hated to be left in the dark about stuff like this. Honestly, he’s quietly hoping for a girl—Stark fathers and sons have a long history of warring expectations as well as personalities, and he and Howard had been no different—but he’ll be happy with anything as long as they're healthy.

A nurse comes and retrieves them, Tony once again waiting at Mary’s side as she goes through the regular checkup routine until Doctor Koefed comes in.

“Hello, Mary! Nice to see you, Tony. You’re both looking well!” She points to Mary’s stomach. “And from my nurse’s initial check-up, this little one is right on track too.”

Mary smiles at her. Tony fiddles with his baseball cap as the women catch up. He’s getting antsy to see the ultrasound.

“Alright! It’s a big one today—gender reveal! Do you guys want to know the sex?”

They both nod, and the doctor smiles as she puts the tool against Mary’s abdomen. Tony gapes at the tiny body on the screen, no longer a bean but an actual baby-shaped body. It’s still tiny—far too tiny to be in the world—but what grey features are visible are still distinctly human-shaped.

“Look at that—healthy as can be!” The doctor smiles, clicking on the screen and moving the wand to get a few different angles. “A little on the short side, but nothing abnormal. They still have a lot of growing to do,” she says lightly, and Mary laughs.

“Yeah, they didn’t have much of a chance with that,” Tony mutters, looking at the distinctly large lift on his shoe. Mary chuckles, kicking her feet in their slightly raised flats, looking over to her friend in anticipation.

“So…are you ready?” the older woman says with a smile, and Tony finds himself holding his breath.

“See that little piece right there? That would be his itty bitty man parts,” she says softly, and Tony stares as her words settle in.

Although Tony’s not sure how much he enjoys the infantilized phrasing of the words, the point still hits home.

“A boy,” Mary says gleefully.

“Yep! A boy,” the doctor says, and Tony feels a mix of emotions swirling inside of him.

He’s going to have a son.

Alongside the overwhelming joy in knowing more about his kid, he feels an old scar being picked at in his heart. It’s not that he doesn’t want a boy—nothing could make him love this kid any less—but it does bring up a deep fear in his gut about the kind of father he could become. His father was horrible to him as a son, placing expectations on him solely because he needed to be a “Stark Man." He ingrained the idea of what all that entailed in his mind at a young age. 

Stark men are revolutionary and stand tall among the masses. They change the world and are the epitome of intellectual men. Their footprints are large and their shadows are long and overpowering. He’d learned early that these values his father worshiped were directly opposed to the things Howard Stark wanted from a child—Stark men were supposed to pave their own way and show everyone up, but as Howard Stark’s son, he had the same commands beaten into him again and again: sit down, shut up, make the kinds of things I ask you to and nothing more. We make weapons, so don’t bring up green energy initiatives again, what are you, one of those hippies? My meetings with Margaret Carter are none of your business, boy, keep your nose out of my business, except this business will be yours one day, take more of an interest, go to MIT, go to business school, be better and smarter but not smarter than me, never show you’re smarter than me, or I’ll make you regret it.

Tony suddenly feels a deep seated rage towards his father. The idea of treating his son, this wonderful baby boy in Mary’s belly with even the slightest amount of that kind of harshness makes his stomach turn. He would rather die than make his son feel as small and worthless as Howard often made him feel.

He's going to break that cycle of shame if it kills him.

**July 9th, 2001**

**_A Stork for Stark: Tony Stark’s Baby Mama?!_ **

_Is marriage in Tony Stark's future? While no officials from New York Presbyterian or Stark Industries have confirmed, Tony Stark and an expecting mystery brunette were spotted this week going inside of the Queens, New York hospital together. Is love in the air for our favorite playboy billionaire, or is this just another casual fling gone wrong?_

_[PICTURED: Tony Stark, possibly attempting to hide his identity behind a heavy scarf and sunglasses. Next to him touching his arm is the mystery woman in question, an estimated six months pregnant.]_

"This is a disaster," Tony states, flopped across his living room couch and firmly burying both his woes and his words into the leather upholstery. Next to him on the coffee table is a copy of today's _People_ nestled next to a more tastefully written piece from the _Hollywood Reporter_ that mimics the same information: Tony and Mary's hospital visits have officially been disclosed to the world.

"We knew they'd find out eventually," Pepper sighs, sitting at his feet and giving his leg a few ineffectual, comforting pats.

"Yeah, but that's what spin is for! To control the story the way we want to. Instead it's this...garbage!"

"At least they didn't release her name."

Tony scoffs. "It's only a matter of time." Tony flips to his back so that he can look at Pepper for the tremulous question he's about to ask. "How deeply have our stocks plummeted this time?"

The smile he receives in return is unexpected, but recognizable in that certain way Pepper gets when she knows something he doesn't. "What?"

She gives her phone's keyboard a few taps before offering it to him. On her screen are the mobile barebones of CNBC's website, detailing their publicized investment numbers.

"You've got to be _shitting_ me." Tony sits up, waving Pepper's phone in her face like she doesn't already know what he's looking at. "We're up fifty points!"

Pepper shrugs at him.

"Don't you just—“ Tony mocks her shrug. "At me! This is—what, I show my bare ass once—"

"On three separate occasions."

"And we plummet! But I, maybe, publicly unconfirmed, might _possibly_ have a child, and suddenly everyone loves me?"

"Your ass doesn't concern the future of the entire company."

"My ass is fantastic!"

"That's not what I'm arguing—"

Tony's brows raise. "We're definitely coming back to _that_ later—"

"Tony," Pepper sighs, ending their verbal spat before it can go any further. "I'm just saying, people responding this way to the news...it wasn't exactly unexpected."

It only takes a beat before Tony parses that statement out, his head rearing to her with a snap. "You were going to profit off of my kid?"

" _We_ were," Pepper corrects, unapologetic. "We _are_. This is your company too. Good news gives people faith. We might've done better with an official statement, but the fact is, this news was always going to do something for the company in one way or another. Be glad that it's positive."

"Fine. Whatever." Tony rolls his eyes. "Not like I know why."

Pepper shifts out of her more business-like, defensive position. She quirks her head at him as she shifts her body towards him on the couch, her bare knee tapping against his jeans. "What do you mean?"

Tony snorts out a breath. "Pep. Come on." At her raised eyebrow, he continues. "I've been messing this up from the beginning. I got a practical stranger pregnant, I got caught going to the appointments, soon her entire life will be exposed to the media, and on top of all of that, I thought that I—"

He cuts the last of that thought off. What he felt— _thought_ he felt for Mary...Pepper doesn't need to know about it. It was a fantasy anyway, a farce of a thought that he'd let go too far because he was drunk and scared.

"My son’s not even here yet, and I'm already disappointing him," Tony laughs out sardonically, hiding his face in his hands before he can admit, "What if I can't do this?"

There's a moment of silence, letting that question sit. He thinks, for a moment, that of course Pepper can't create a response to that. She'd only be able to affirm that he's right, that he should back out of it all now, claim Mary's baby isn't his, and leave both her and the kid alone, separate from his never-ending parade of failures.

Instead, he feels Pepper move a little closer, her hand warm against his back. "You haven't messed anything up, Tony," she says. Tony removes his face from his hands to give her a flat look in response.

"I'm serious. This is, what, the fourth appointment you've been to with her? And some gossip rag is just finding out now? You did the best you could. Not to mention—I kept the appointments off of your schedule, and you were still present and on time for every single one. In another city, even!"

He wants to take offense at that implication, but Pepper's right. He hasn't been on time to a Stark Industries meeting in...a while. But for Mary, for this child...it had seemed more important than ever to give being timely a try.

"As for the fatherhood thing..." Pepper shrugs. "I hear it's all learning on the job, anyway, You'll never know until you get there." 

She takes his hand, then, her warm fingers thin in his calloused ones. "And until then—I can see how happy this baby has made you. I say you just announce it however you want. Get it out into the world and move past this already."

"I'm sorry, Pepper Potts is telling me to go out and talk to the press without a statement? Am I having a stroke?"

She slaps at his arm lightly, smiling like he meant to get her to. "I can write it for you, but I think genuine is better here." She looks anywhere but at him when she says, "When you talk about the baby, you get this smile on your face...it will be a good look for you, is all."

It's an earnest moment, heavy in all the ways he's always been scared of, so he replies, "You're really full of compliments today, huh, Potts?" He nudges her shoulder with his own. "What do you want, another raise? New Mercedes? A pony?"

"I think I'll settle for a press conference I don't have to clean up after, Mister Stark," she jokes back, untangling their hands and primly straightening her pencil skirt before she stands. "I'll set it up, okay? You just...think about what you're going to say."

"That'll be a first."

Pepper's responding sigh is as familiar a comfort as her brief touch was the moment before.

**July 11th, 2001**

“Are you sure we can’t call this off? Call it quits? Send Mary and the baby to chill on a beach in Jamaica for three months and pretend the whole thing never happened?”

Pepper’s face is completely flat.

“Yeah, okay, that’s what I thought. Just checking.”

He’s never been this nervous for a press conference in his life. It’s also entirely possible he hasn’t ever been this sober for a press conference, in which case...alcohol really is quite the magical social lubricant.

It’s also probably because this press conference isn’t like the rest. He stopped giving personal related conferences after his parents died. They were conferences about Stark Industries business or articles that published his indecencies and nothing in-between. (Unlike his parents, who held interview after interview about his accomplishments, his failures, whatever kept them in the spotlight for another day and sales on the incline.)

With a quick “You’ve got this, Tony,” said with only the slightest hint of disbelief in her own words, Pepper pushes him forward.

The cameras flash as he walks on stage, the lights still blinding even behind his sunglasses. The reporters, ravenous as always, start to call out to him. He holds a hand up to silence them, his presence still commanding as they follow suit.

“Hello everybody, good morning, you good? Not too cold in here? Cameras have their batteries? Liking the free coffee? Yeah? Good. Cool.”

In the corner of his eye, Pepper makes a nudging motion. _Get on with it._

“So. Sadly, someone beat all of you to the story of the century. You all saw it, right? _People_ , _The Hollywood Reporter_. All legitimate forms of press, but not a very tasteful move, publishing some woman’s photograph just because she was standing next to me. Not cool.”

He sighs, hardening his stance. “Well, it’s true. That woman, who I’m identifying as Mary Fitzpatrick so none of you have to dig into her personal life to do so—is pregnant, and I’m the father.”

The press pit booms again, cameras flashing, reporters holding up their microphones for comment. He holds up his palms again. “Yes, there will be questions. But think hard, folks, because they’re limited. Seriously, I’m going to be counting. Let me just get a few things off of the table, first.”

He takes a breath and leans into the mic.

“No, I’m not in an official relationship with Mary. Yes, the paternity has been tested. It was a brief night together, but we’re raising the child with both of his parents in the picture. Let that remain as a reminder to you all that condoms are only 99.9% effective. Also, yes, you heard me right, it’s a boy. Mary’s 26 weeks and counting.” He turns to Pepper, standing offstage. “I think that’s everything, right?”

She nods. “Cool. You guys know the rules, if I don’t want to answer it, I won’t. If Pepper or my legal team doesn’t want me to answer it, I still might, but I’ll probably get dragged off stage by the ear while doing it.”

Every hand raises in front of him, more than two dozen eager faces chomping at the bit for their chance.

He picks a well-manicured hand towards the middle. “You first, let’s start strong, okay?”

“Joanna Yu, _Daily Bugle_ —Mister Stark, you’ve had a harried past filled with behavior most parents beg their children to avoid. Do you really think you’re fit to be a parent?”

“Wow, you’re, uh...not pulling any punches, are you? Oh, wait, _Daily Bugle_ , that tracks. Doing your bosses proud, huh?” Tony avoids actually answering the question for as long as he can. It’s a question he’s been asking himself relentlessly since all of this started, and most days he still doesn’t have an answer.

“Seriously, honestly...who the hell is? Look, my dad...you wouldn’t believe this, but the guy who ran a major conglomerate wasn’t actually around that much when I was growing up. But he and my mom had me even if they weren’t great at it. There are plenty of people that shouldn’t have had kids that did anyway. It happens.”

“What I can say is that I’m trying. Every day, I’m doing my best to give my future son the love and attention he deserves, and he’s not even here yet. I hope that’s a good start. I hope it’s enough. But if it’s not...his mother and I will deal with that, too. I’m going to do whatever it takes to make that kid happy, and if it means becoming the man fit to be his father...slowly but surely, I will. Somehow, I’ll make that happen for him.”

He swallows back the lump in his throat. “So, uh. Yeah. Next?”

“Dave Cavillier, _NBC_. What does this mean for Stark Industries?”

“Well, I can tell you this, our stock shares are definitely worth investing in right now.”

The audience laughs, well aware of the recent jump.

“No, uh, you know, I don’t know. Obie would want me to say that it’s security for our future, that it’s another Stark to lead us further into the 21st Century, but I...I don’t want to put those kinds of expectations on the baby yet. If he’s interested in the company, it’s his. Until then, all of my shares are his, and he has majority voting power at the very least once he turns eighteen. Thank you. We’re on a roll, how about one more for the road?”

He sees a familiar reporter in the crowd, a young woman who isn’t afraid to throw him a softball question or two that he hits out of the park more often than not. He points to her, hoping for the best.

“Alice Shepherd, _Entertainment Weekly_. You said the baby is about 26 weeks along. That leaves about three months before the child is born. Are you excited, Mister Stark?”

Oh, yeah, she knows exactly how to make him look good on camera. Thank god for fluff pieces.

“You should ask anyone who’s been in the vicinity of me in the last few months,” he jokes, thinking of all the time he’s spent thinking of the ultrasounds, the kicking against his hands. “I’ll admit, I was terrified at first. Like, this is the moment all of us famous people dread, right? But then I heard the heartbeat and it was just...I’d never felt anything like it before. It’s excitement and fear and just...this foreign feeling in my chest I can’t describe. If you have kids out there, I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”

A few reporters in the audience seem to nod to themselves in agreement.

“I am excited though. I really am. It’s going to be crazy and different from anything I’ve ever done in my life, and I can’t wait.” 

He pushes his sunglasses up his nose and straightens his posture.

“Thanks so much for coming, and for not completely eating my ass live on national television. Really appreciate it, folks.” With that, he exits with a few waves, not bothering to pose in favor of getting off of the stage before he pukes. He didn’t realize being emotionally vulnerable could be so...exhausting.

As he steps off stage, Pepper looks at him with a soft smile.

“So, tell me Miss Potts—was it worth it to send me out there without a script?”

“Absolutely,” she says fondly. “Could have done without the reference to your ass, though.”

“I told you we’d come back around to you paying attention to my ass.” 

Pepper rolls her eyes, taking out her Blackberry and accepting a call. She smiles and puts her hand over the receiver. 

“It’s Mary,” she whispers. Tony makes a familiar _gimme_ sign with his hand, Pepper sighing as she hands him the phone.

“Hey Mary—how’d I do?”

“Perfect,” she says, a smile in her voice. “You nailed it.”

Tony preens at the compliment. “Yeah, Pepper seems to think so too. That’s a big deal for her to admit, by the way—most of her job is telling me what I’m doing wrong, and she really enjoys it. Hopefully they won’t eat us alive after that.”

Mary hesitates, and Tony frowns.

“Yeah, it’s just—it’s been kind of crazy out here. A lot of people recognized me even before you did this. From the magazines. I’ve basically just been staying in my apartment. Took a few days off of work.”

Tony’s frown deepens.

“Are they harassing you?” he asks lowly, and he feels anger bubbling in his chest at the thought. For a second, he’d considered the media decent enough people after this press conference went so well.

“I mean—I can handle a little attention. It’s just…uncomfortable, people following me around, asking me questions.”

“I’m coming up there,” Tony says firmly, looking to Pepper to make sure she heard him. She nods, probably already mentally shuffling his schedule around.

“It’s fine, it’s—”

“No, it’s not fine. I’m going to bring you a security detail. I’ve got just the guy for it. Plus, I want to see what is going on with the penthouse. Renovations are supposed to be done by now, and I want to see how it looks.”

Not to mention he wants to feel the baby kick again, maybe whisper a few words to him—not that he’ll admit to that.

“Okay,” Mary says, tone only a little reluctant. “Okay, yeah, that sounds good.”

**July 12th, 2001**

“I don’t feel so good about this, boss,” Happy sighs from the passenger seat. For once, Tony is driving them, and deftly (read—dangerously) avoiding crappy downtown New York traffic while he’s at it.

“It’s just a little motion sickness, Hap, you’ll be over it in an hour.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

“Tony, my job is to watch your back. Without me—”

“I’ll have your guys, who you personally trained. It’s not like I’m going to be doing any international travel or anything. It’s just a few months going between work and the house. And it’s just until the baby is born.”

Happy sighs. “Only if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Now c’mon, bet me twenty bucks that I can’t jump this curb.”

“No.”

Entering Mary’s complex is a feat of its own. True to her word, there are a handful of paparazzi waiting outside of Mary’s apartment. He wouldn’t be surprised if they rang every doorbell in the place to try and figure out which unit was hers. Happy thankfully makes the smart move to call ahead to the building’s manager, who lets them in the back door for a gracious tip of a few thousand dollars.

“I love that you keep that much cash on you,” Tony remarks as they come to Mary’s door. “I’ve spoiled you rotten, and it’s hilarious.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t require me to pay people off to ignore all of the stupid shit you do.”

“That money must have been burning a hole in your pocket for the last six months.”

Happy doesn’t get to reply before Tony knocks on Mary’s door. Instead of the mother-to-be, he comes face to face with a completely different woman wearing a tank top and round, bookish glasses halfway down her nose, the picture of a woman that is distinctly not happy with him.

“ _You_ ,” she growls out, shoving her pointer finger into his chest.

“Um,” he lets out, and she drags him into the apartment by his collar.

“You got Mary pregnant, and you went on television and talked about it like—like it was no big deal! And you’re—you just—!” 

“Honey,” says another voice, this time male. A tall, burly man with shaggy brown hair appears over the angry woman’s shoulder, pulling her back. “May, calm down, you know it’s not like that.”

“She was alone! For months! And we had no idea she was having Tony Stark’s baby! No idea that she was pregnant!” May, apparently, crosses her arms, nervously moving to chew at her thumbnail. “What does that say about us, Ben? We had her over at Christmas for four years and didn’t check up on her for more than six months after Richard died? How could we do that?”

Tony's really not sure what to do with himself. They’re strangers in Mary’s apartment, and they’re clearly having an argument about him and—

“Tony!” comes Mary’s voice, entering the apartment behind them with a tray of coffee cups in her hand. “Hi, this—sorry, I wasn’t sure when you’d be here and...I can see you’ve met Ben and May.”

“Something like that.” He tries to smile, but it’s definitely tense in here. “Who are they, exactly?”

“Ben Parker,” the man introduces himself, stepping forward to shake Tony’s hand. “This is my wife, May.”

The woman stares at him, her lips pressed together in a thin line.

“Sorry about the, uh, ambush. I’m just...this whole thing has her so worked up.”

Right, what did May say? Mary’s sister-in-law, meaning… “You’re Richard’s brother.”

“That’s right.” Ben seems the stoic type, but there’s a sadness in Ben’s eyes that Tony knows well, bottling up the depths of darkness that loss can bring you into.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Tony says, hoping to move on. “I’m Tony Stark—obviously, I guess, since you recognized me. This is Happy Hogan. My bodyguard, now Mary’s.”

“Tony…” Mary sighs, but shakes her head, offering the hand not balancing the coffee tray to shake Happy’s hand. “Nice to see you again, Mister Hogan.”

“Here, let me—” Happy graciously takes the coffees from Mary, setting them on the coffee table. “You should sit, relax.”

Mary laughs, shaking her head. “I’m six months pregnant, not invalid. You’ll have to let me do my own thing if this is going to work out.”

“She’s right,” May adds, searching the marked cups before finding the one with her order. “Mary’s a stubborn one. Just look at her, getting coffee for us by herself in the middle of all this! I could never keep her out of the kitchen during the holidays, she always had to have her hands in something.”

Mary snorts. “That’s not because I’m stubborn, that’s because you can’t cook.”

May scoffs, but they all end up laughing together, so it must be an inside joke.

“Come on,” Mary insists. “Sit down, Tony. I promise, they don’t bite.”

“Well, May might,” Ben mutters, earning himself a light smack from his wife.

There’s a moment of silence where Mary and the Parkers are all sipping their drinks quietly, but May can’t seem to stand it, abruptly saying, “I don’t want to pry, but...how the hell did this happen?”

She points between them both. “You two, I mean.”

Mary sighs, stopping his chance to try to adequately explain their one-night hookup. “Honestly, I...I wasn’t even going to go to the conference. Richard was always my partner at those things, always loved them more than I did. But then I thought about how much fun we always had together and I just—made a snap decision. I met Tony after his bioengineering lecture and we just hit it off.”

Mary hesitates for a moment, staring into her tea.

“I didn’t tell you because I was ashamed,” Mary admits, head down, avoiding their stares. “Richard hadn’t even been gone a year and I was already sleeping with a stranger? Some faithful wife. I didn’t think you’d want to see me if you knew I’d gotten pregnant with someone else’s baby. You were both so close to Richard, I just...” 

“Mary, no…” May soothes, reaching for her hand.

“Mary, we understand. Everyone was grieving so strongly after Richard passed,” Ben says softly, his voice laced with sorrow.

“It wasn’t like I was just out and about sleeping around. He was just understanding and sweet and—it really was a one-time thing,” Mary says, tears in her eyes, and shit, is she going to cry? Tony might not be able to handle it if she cries.

“It’s a good thing you did though,” May says with a gentle smile, placing her hand on Mary’s belly. “Now we get to have this precious little guy in our lives.”

Mary lets out a teary laugh at that, wiping her eyes before the tears can fall.

“Yeah, he’s—he’s perfect.”

“And you meant what you said? On the news? You’re happy about all this?” May asks Tony.

“Absolutely.” He says it with a confidence he really feels, that he means, and it seems to make Mary smile too.

“He’s been great, May. He’s been to every appointment, he bought an apartment to be closer to us, and he even picked out the cutest little Peter Rabbit toy for him,” she says fondly, and Tony feels a blush forming at her praise—people rarely compliment him so openly, and it puts a fuzzy feeling in his gut. He pointedly doesn’t look at Happy’s caught-the-canary smirk.

“Tony Stark, theming a nursery,” May whispers with a mostly-fake, awed quality. “What a world.”

“You got that right.” Happy adds with a laugh.

“So, Mister Hogan.” May redirects her attention. “Have you known Tony long?”

Happy snorts. “Since I pulled his ass out of a Los Angeles gutter.”

“I hate this story,” Tony groans, sinking into the couch.

“Even more reason to tell it,” Mary teases, and god, when the kid is here he’s so screwed. Everyone just loves to turn against him.

“He was on a bender—now, this was the very early days of his adulthood, so he was very publicly trying every party drug he could get his hands on, being reckless as—” He looks over at Mary’s stomach, as if trying to find a PG way to tell this story. He settles on, “ _Heck_.”

“He has ears, that doesn’t mean he cares if you curse.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to set a good example.”

Tony rolls his eyes.

“Anyway, he wasn’t exactly being picky about his dealers. So I’m working security for this club, and none other than Tony Stark comes stumbling out fighting, a group of skinny little junkies on his butt and about to win because they decided to rob the rich party boy who couldn’t see straight. I send them back inside with enough bruises to scare them off, and this punk falls into the gutter puking, looks up at me, offers me a job, and passes out in the puddle of his own vomit.”

The Parkers and Mary all fall into laughter at Tony’s expense, but he doesn’t mind as much as he does when Happy tells these kinds of stories to Rhodey’s military buddies, who can all lift him with one arm and love to threaten him with it.

It feels a little bit like what family should be like, and thinking of the child that eventually presses on Mary’s bladder from her excessive laughter, he’s pretty happy to see them all coming together. With Rhodey and Pepper waiting back home, he smiles at the thought of how _loved_ this kid is.

His son will be alright.

**August 10th, 2001**

Tony is graphically imagining the ways in which he could harm Obie.

It’s meeting time, the worst time of day, and Obie just keeps talking, and _talking_ , and oh my god, if he says the words _quarter_ or _profits_ again, Tony’s going to _scream_.

Pepper clearly sees him mentally drifting away, and she reacts by gently pressing her heel into his shoe underneath the table.

 _Focus_ , she mouths to his affronted look.

 _I am_ , he mouths back, clearly lying.

His phone ringing a few minutes later may actually be a godsend.

Then he sees the caller ID is Happy, and he gets a little nervous.

“Hap? It’s not like you to call when I have a meeting on my schedule. What’s going on?”

“Tony, it’s—it’s Mary, she—”

“What? Happy, what happened, what’s going on?”

“She’s—Tony, the baby’s coming.”

It takes Tony’s brain a minute to compute that sentence, but when it does, he feels his heart literally stop beating in his chest.

“...what?”

“Tony, the baby—I don’t know—We’re going to the hospital. You need—”

The line fumbles for a minute, and then Mary’s voice fills his ear.

“Tony…Tony something’s _wrong_.”

He feels his world shift off its axis at her words, and he must tilt with it, because suddenly Pepper’s pulling him into his chair, confusion and panic in her eyes.

He doesn’t protest when she takes the phone from his hand.

“Mary? Are you—I know, it’s scary, but you’ll be okay, alright? We’re coming. We’re on our way, don’t worry about a thing, just stay with Happy, I’ll call May and Ben, you just do what the doctors tell you to do, okay? I’m booking the flight right now, we are _coming to you_.”

She already has her own Blackberry in her hands when she hangs up, calling ahead to the private airstrip and pulling him out of his chair in the same move.

“What the hell is going on?” Obie asks, because he’s so out of the loop in all of this, of course he wasn’t paying enough attention, _of course_ he doesn’t know.

“The baby—Mary—” Tony stutters out, feeling like his voice, almost always the loudest in the room, has gone silent, been stolen from him like this moment that was supposed to be beautiful, radiant, _two months from now_.

But the thing about Obie is that he’s always been unshakable too. He and Pepper keep Tony steady because they’re steady, and he’s never been more thankful for that than in this moment.

“Go,” Obie urges, following them out of the conference room and into the hallway. “Go to the kid, I’ve got you covered, call me when you can.”

“Thanks—thank you, Obie.”

“Go! Potts, get his ass out of here already!” Obie shouts, caring as always in his gruff way.

“Yes, sir.” Pepper pulls him along, straight into a waiting car, but the driver isn’t Happy, because Happy is in New York, his child is in New York and something is wrong, and he’s not there, why the hell isn’t he _there_?

“Tony,” Pepper says, grabbing his arm because he practically blacked out. They’re at the airport and he doesn’t remember the trip. It had to have been at least twenty minutes, where the hell did he go?

“Tony, you need to calm down,” Pepper urges, firmly squeezing his shoulder. “We don’t know what’s happened yet, and we can’t figure it out until we get there. I can’t get you there until you get up and move, and you can’t do that until you relax your muscles and _calm down_.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, hand on his chest, because this may or may not be what a heart attack feels like. “Yeah, I know.”

But that one breath begets another, and another, and finally, the car feels less like a cage and more like a car. He can hear the air conditioning blowing, pop music on the radio, the sounds of planes going by muffled outside the doors.

A full breath finally comes.

“I’m good, I’m—I’m good. Let’s go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m goddamn sure I know when I’m breathing right, Potts, let’s _go_!”

The flight is long. It’s the longest flight to New York he’s ever taken. It’s five hours that feels like fifteen filled with pacing and fear and, admittedly, a few tears that slip by when he can’t seem to keep himself in check.

He’s worried they won’t be the last.

(Pepper does him the kindness of looking away instead of watching, and he silently thanks her for it.)

Tony would like to say he breaks every traffic law known to man to reach the hospital, but he can’t even trust himself behind the wheel. He and Pepper ride in the back of a cab for fifteen minutes, and thankfully the driver doesn’t bother with small talk. If he had, Tony might have broken his streak for no lawsuits and strangled the guy for daring to think anything could be more important to him than getting to the hospital right this second.

He dashes out of the car before it’s even stopped, rushing through the glass doors as Pepper stays behind to cover the cab fare. He’s stopped by the elevator—he must push the up button twenty times before Pepper catches up to him and it still takes the thing forever to reach them. When they do get inside, it feels like a horrible, cramped space he needs to break out of to breathe, just like the plane was only minutes ago. Nothing is fast enough, big enough, _anything_ enough to shut up the nerves swirling around in the pit of his stomach.

He does an awkward half-walk-half-sprint to the reception desk, his heart hammering in his chest as he clutches onto the edge of the counter.

“I’m here for Mary—Mary Fitzpatrick,” he says breathlessly, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The woman swallows—she either recognizes him, or she knows something about Mary’s condition—he’s not sure which. The clunky keys tap under her fingers and it feels like forever, how hard is a name, he spends all day at a keyboard, he could have hacked this place faster— 

“Room 401. Are you—”

Tony doesn’t wait to hear what she says, waving a hand at Pepper that says _handle it_ without looking back. He tries not to run down the hall after getting a few pointed glares from the staff—shit, maternity wing, right, babies sleeping, babies being born, his son is here and he shouldn’t be, _shit_ this is bad.

He almost misses the door from being too far into his own head, but it’s slightly open, a signal that he’s at the right place when he sees May, Ben and Happy crowded in the room. Mary’s on the bed, her hands working the hospital blanket through her fingers with a lost look in her eyes. 

“ _Mary_ ,” he breathes, rushing to her side as May moves to let him in. “Christ, Mary, what—” 

“Tony—Tony, I’m so sorry,” she says with tears in her eyes, breathing out a sob before she can continue.

“What—is he—” Tony can’t string a complete question together, too scared for any of the answers. He doesn’t want to be told he’s lost this chance, this tiny life he’d only just prepared himself to love.

“It’s—they said my blood pressure was high when I came in. Too high. They—they said it’s something called HELLP syndrome, but the details are—I don’t know—”

“Mary, you need to calm down,” May says softly, propping herself on Mary’s bed and laying her own hand over Mary’s clenched fist. “Getting all worked up won’t do any good for your blood pressure.”

Mary nods to May, letting out a shaky breath that she attempts to turn into something more steady. Tony knows he needs to be calm for her, needs to be like May and Ben, steadfast and ready for anything. But he doesn’t know what the hell HELLP syndrome is or what it means for their baby, if it means there’s no longer a healthy enough baby to bring into the world.

Pepper quietly steps into the room behind him, sticking a visitor’s tag on his chest to match her own.

Then Happy and Pepper share a look across the room—Tony’s spiraling and it’s clearly not helping. Happy puts a hand behind his back, guiding Tony back out the door.

In his ear, Pepper whispers, “I’m picking up Rhodey at the airport and bringing him over. Call me if you need anything.” She squeezes Tony’s arm, bids Mary goodbye, and exits the hospital room ahead of them, the soft click of her heels audible underneath the beep of the fetal monitor.

“We’ll be right back,” Happy says in a voice softer than Tony’s ever heard him use, and it does nothing to ease his nerves. Despite his nickname, Happy is at his most in control when he’s maintaining his gruff exterior. When Happy gets emotional like this, it’s rarely for a good reason.

“What happened?” Tony demands in a snappish whisper the second Happy closes the door. “You were supposed to be protecting her, so how the hell could this have happened?!”

Happy guides them a little further down the hallway, hopefully out of Mary’s earshot.

“It wasn’t—she said she’d been feeling weird since Wednesday morning. Headaches, nausea. She said she was fine, that her doctor’s appointment was on Monday and—”

“And nothing! Why didn’t you do anything?” Tony raises his voice. “I could have—we could have—” Tony growls, anger coiling around him like a snake as he runs his hands through his hair for the hundredth time today. He knows that it’s not Happy’s fault. He shouldn’t be screaming at Happy for something out of his control. Everything feels like it’s out of his control, though. All he wants to do is scream until it stops.

“Tony, I’m sorry,” Happy crosses his arms, looking down at the floor instead of at Tony. He’s already feeling guilty, and Tony’s just piling it on. It makes Tony’s stomach clench. “I offered to take her to the doctor, but she laughed it off. She said she was fine. She said—”

“I know. I know, I’m sorry,” Tony sighs, reigning himself back in. “It’s not—it’s not your fault. I just…” He trails off, but Happy nods at him anyway, understanding. It’s been a hard day on all of them, and turning on each other isn’t going to make it any better when this cobbled together group is the only support system they have.

“Mister Stark?”

Tony turns to see a middle-aged nurse walking up to them, a kind smile on her face as she approaches. Her scrubs are a pattern of colorful greens and blues, offsetting the more neutral tones of the hallway and medical equipment surrounding them.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s me,” he answers, holding out his hand to shake her smaller one.

“It’s nice to meet you, my name is Sandra. I’m the nurse in charge of Mary’s care today, so I wanted to introduce myself and explain the situation. Do you mind if I speak to you alone for a moment?” 

Her demeanor is bright, but not ignorant. She’s not treating him as if this is a normal birth, as if he’s any other father about to have their child. He’s someone whose entire life has been thrown into chaos, and she’s a life raft of kindness. Weirdly, it is somewhat calming to have someone see him for the mess that he is right now and soften any possible blow, so he just nods and follows her to a seating area nearby. 

Happy gives a firm pat to his shoulder before walking back to Mary’s room.

“I’m glad that you could make it, Mister Stark. I heard it was a long flight, and I’m sure you’re anxious to be filled in.”

Tony nods, jiggling his knee up and down in his seat. “It’s not a call I ever wanted to get, you know?”

Sandra places a hand where his arm sits on the rest between them.

“It rarely is. But I want you to know that Mary is happy to have you here—all of you. New mothers need as much support as they can get.” 

“Thanks.”

She nods back. “As for Mary’s condition, we’re in a bit of a situation, obviously. This morning, she was brought in after experiencing headaches and nausea, some swelling of the hands and feet. Her blood pressure was also dangerously higher than normal, all leading Doctor Koefed to suspect preeclampsia.”

“Okay, but what about—the HELLP thing, what about that?” he asks, because none of it means anything to him, but he has to try to pull at every straw of sense he’s got left.

“We ran labs that indicated her platelet count was low, and that could interfere with her blood clotting the way it should. Her liver enzymes were elevated, and there was protein in her urine as well, all leading Doctor Koefed to officially diagnose Mary with HELLP syndrome. It’s a mnemonic for multiple complications of preeclampsia that affect her kidneys, liver, and placenta.”

“And those are all pretty vital, aren’t they?” he answers sardonically, not really feeling the snarky response but unable to hold it back anyway.

“Especially when growing a baby inside you. Thankfully, there are some things that we’ve done to help Mary—we’re trying to avoid any kind of stroke or seizure, and we need to continue helping her body’s blood flow since her liver and kidneys aren’t doing it as well right now. Initially we treated her blood pressure with labetalol and aprestoline, but we didn’t get the desired response, so we’ve moved on to a magnesium sulfate drip that we’re hopeful will help.”

Stroke, seizure—Mary was fine, she was _fine_ and now her blood’s all fucked up and she’s not responding to the treatment. Not to mention... “And the baby, is he…?”

“As I said, Mary’s placenta is being impacted by her condition, and the baby needs that blood flow just as much as Mary does for its oxygen and nutrients to go through the umbilical cord correctly.”

Sandra sighs, frowning at him sympathetically. “Because of Mary’s condition, the baby has sensed that something’s wrong, and has thrown Mary into preterm labor. It’s not uncommon, but it’s definitely not helping either of them right now. She’s dilated so far that it’s very unlikely to stop. We are doing our best, but more likely than not...this baby is coming. We’re ready to do whatever we need to do to get both the baby and Mary through this.” 

Mary’s having the baby.

His son is coming. Today. Two months too early. If he even survives it.

“What I can tell you is that we’re doing our best to prepare for the baby’s survival after the birth and any post-labor complications Mary may experience. Doctor Koefed is here and keeping a close eye on Mary’s condition and the baby’s.”

Tony buries his face in his hands, attempting to digest the swell of medical jargon. He’s supposed to be a genius and it’s all spinning through his brain and coming out the other side. Other than words like _survival_ , and _critical_ , and that this is happening and there’s literally nothing he or any of the doctors can do to keep his little boy in the safety of Mary’s body any longer, he feels lost. Because her body isn’t safe anymore. Mary’s no longer safe. And he can’t fix that either.

“Why don’t you go sit with your family, Mister Stark?” Sandra suggests gently, like she can tell what he really wants to do is find the closest bar and numb himself into forgetting any of this is happening. It’s what he did when Jarvis died, when his parents died. Running away and desperately trying to forget has been his MO for as long as he can remember. 

“I’m sure Mary is calmer knowing that everyone is here to help her through this.”

It’s that twinge of guilt—that he can’t leave Mary alone, that this isn’t over to forget yet—that makes him stay. 

Tony walks back into Mary’s room. In some ways, he wishes they hadn’t told him what was happening. He can’t look at her without imagining the worst. She has to focus on the pain. He has to think about what will happen if it takes her and their baby to the grave in one fell swoop.

“Just breathe, honey,” May soothes, now sitting at the head of the bed next to Mary. She’s holding her sister-in-law and running her fingers through Mary’s hair. “It’s going to be fine.”

Mary huffs out a breath, taking another as the contraction rolls through her.

“You don’t know that,” she chokes out, upset and teary. She looks up at Tony’s return, and the guilt he sees there makes his chest tighten.

“Tony. Tony, I’m so _sorry_ —” she says, wilting back into the hospital bed as soon as the contraction passes. She looks small and helpless. She’s not ready either. She’s scared too. Tony swallows the lump in his throat.

“It’s—It’s not your fault,” he whispers, his voice soft and broken. Quietly, he thinks, _it’s mine_. He wasn’t with her, he’s never in New York enough, he didn’t tell Happy to push her even if she was being stubborn. It’s always Tony’s fault, isn’t that just the state of the world?

“It is!” she cries, body shaking with sobs. Tony startles at her volume, the raw desperation coating her face. “I knew I felt weird—I knew something was wrong, but I thought it could wait. I should have listened to Happy. If I had just gone to the doctor—”

“No, Mary, you didn’t—you didn’t know. You had no clue what was happening.” Tony takes a breath, trying to will confidence into his voice. “What-ifs...they aren’t going to do anything, okay? We just—we have to deal with what’s happening now. Otherwise, I can’t—I don’t know what else to do but take it a step at a time. Okay?”

It’s not a good answer. It’s not a platitude or a comfort to soothe her, just the truth. These next hours of their lives are tenuous and unpredictable. He has no guide of what to do but be here. Assigning blame, even to himself, won’t be what saves Mary and the baby. Nothing on their part can.

Guilt still pools in Mary’s blue eyes, reflecting his own. Still, she nods, steeling herself as if for battle—hands clenched, mouth set, back straight. Mary Fitzpatrick isn’t the kind to give up, and he thinks, looking at her stomach, thinking of his son: _We’re with you, baby. You have to be strong too._

The next few hours are a harried back and forth. Mary dilates further every contraction, but at least she’s still conscious to fight through them, even if she is extremely exhausted doing it. The treatment they gave her must be doing something, at least. The pace is both agonizingly slow and way too fast. This shouldn’t be happening, but it is. 

Pepper returns with Rhodey, and the hospital room feels incredibly small, but it’s filled with good things to fight off the bad—Sandra was right, this is family now, no matter what happens in the future. It’s Tony and Mary’s lives becoming intertwined through their son. 

Logically, he knows that their son needs to come now. The longer this goes on, the harder it will be on his little body. Tony also wants nothing more than for him to stay in, to have the doctors claim this was a false alarm and leave his son to go back to growing safe and happy in Mary’s belly until he reaches that perfect 40 week mark that every parent plans for.

All hope of that goes out of the window when Mary’s water breaks. She cries when it happens, meeting his eyes, the mutual fear of their child coming too soon strung between them. Tony paces back and forth as the nurse comes back in and checks her, telling her that it won’t be long now and to just keep breathing.

Sandra gives him a look on her way by, less filled with pity and more reassuring. He tries to take strength from it.

A few minutes later, Mary squeezes May’s hand.

“I need to push,” she says, pitch frantic, and Tony pales as Pepper goes to get the nurse.

Doctor Koefed, Sandra, and a rush of people come into the room, an organized chaos as they prepare for delivery. As the baby warmer turns on, a loud screeching noise startles Tony and his head snaps to follow it. A nurse rushes to turn it off. An unexpected calmness descends on the room. 

Sandra speaks up from beside the doctor. “Okay Mary, with this next contraction, you can push. Ready?”

Tony finds himself gravitating to Mary’s other side, mirroring May in holding Mary’s hand as she cries out from what must be an incredibly painful pressure. He’d always heard things about the experience of being in the delivery room from other fathers, but it’s different and it’s not. Mary isn’t the love of his life, but in this moment he loves her for this work, for keeping their child safe inside her as long as she could, for bringing their son into the world before either of them are ready.

In the movies, it’s always a painstaking process. Multiple rounds of pushing, hard contractions that don’t stop until a cry turns the room silent.

For Mary, though, the baby crowns with the first push and quickly delivers. Mary’s hand slackens around his, signaling that it’s over even though it feels like it just started.

The room is eerily quiet. 

Tony feels his heart stop at the limp form in the doctor’s hands, his son blue and silent, wrinkled and the size of the oil filter of his Audi, a tiny part that is light and familiar in his hands. He wonders if his son would feel the same, wants to reach out and hold him.

The doctor clamps the cord and looks up at him. Tony thought this would be where he’d freak out, become an immature kid and call it all gross, refuse to look until it was all over. He only has eyes for the baby, in the end. All of the blood and fluids are just...there.

“Would you like to cut it?” Doctor Koefed asks softly. Tony realizes that his hand has been over his mouth since Mary let it go. 

_That’s my kid. My kid. My son. Mine._

God.

Tony swallows a lump in his throat as he takes the scissors with shaking hands, cutting the cord as his son opens his eyes. His very-much alive _child_ stares up at him, his pupils stunned and wide and it’s the most horrifying and beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

The nurses quickly whisk him away to the warmer as they try to get him to breathe. Tony’s still holding the bloody scissors, staring at the empty space of the floor where his son was being held in front of him, like if he waits long enough, they’ll bring him back just so Tony can keep looking.

“Mary?!” May shouts, and Tony turns from the shockingly beautiful moment to a horror scene. Mary is white as a sheet, unresponsive as her hand goes limp in May’s fingers, her eyes rolling back into her head.

“Give me .02 milligrams of methergine now. Hang a unit of TXA type and cross for two units of packed cells, and transfuse now,” Doctor Koefed says firmly, pointedly not yelling in an attempt to control the panic, but Tony can’t stop it from bubbling up inside of him as medical jargon flies in one ear and out the other.

She is shouting orders as the nurses rub Mary’s abdomen. May’s backed up to give them room, tears in her eyes as Ben comes to hold her. Tony sees blood saturating the doctor’s gown and realizes she’s bleeding. There was something earlier about Mary’s blood clotting, wasn’t there?

The nurses feverishly follow the doctor’s orders, promptly messing with equipment and doling out materials that he can't identify. Sandra calls out to him to stay calm, but he sees the chaos and knows it’s anything but calm. 

The NICU team steps up and tells him they’re taking the baby to intensive care. Why him? There’s so much going on—right, he’s a father, that’s his child, he’s the one in charge, his son’s mother is bleeding out and everything is moving too fast, the room is moving in fast forward and Tony can’t _breathe_.

The baby is rolled out of the room, and Doctor Koefed says something about _emergency_ and _OR_ , but Tony swears it’s said through a funnel, that he’s anywhere else but struggling to breathe in a maternity ward in New York and this is all some kind of elaborate nightmare hellscape. 

They cart Mary out in seconds, the cacophony trailing down the hallway.

The room is silent.

Blood is on the floor. Mary’s blood is on the floor, and they took his son away, and it’s so fucking quiet. May falls to her knees, and Ben falls with her. Another nurse comes in, pulling Tony into the hall. At some point, they removed the bloody scissors from his hand. He sees Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey come forward when he walks into the hallway, panic in their eyes as they see the haunted look on his face.

“Tony?” Rhodey asks, wary. Terrified. “Tony, they wheeled Mary out of there, what the hell happened?”

“Mary, she—” Tony feels like he’s swallowing rocks. “The baby—”

“Tony?” Pepper asks, two seconds before he loses the strength in his knees, hitting the tile floor of the hospital with a deafening _smack_. “Rhodey, get a doctor, get—”

“No!” Tony shouts, shoving off Pepper’s hands. “Mary—she’s bleeding and the baby—it wasn’t supposed to be like this! I have to—fuck, I wasn’t supposed to do this alone! She was supposed to be here, and now—I don’t know what to do.” He looks up to them—Pepper, Happy, Rhodey. They’ve always been above him, always been better. For so much of his life, they have picked him up and fixed his problems and they’re looking down at him with eyes so empty, so unsure.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispers out, unprepared for when it turns into a sob. Three warm hands land on his shoulders. He doesn’t move from his spot on the floor for a long time.

Tony takes a long time to get his shit together. Example: the whole not cutting back on the excessive drinking and partying thing until faced with fatherhood. He likes to take his time on becoming presentable to the world. He’s fashionably late to parties, to events. As long as no one can tell he hasn’t slept or was hungover hours before, he’s fine to take his time to bring himself together.

He doesn’t have time, when it comes to the baby.

Rhodey helps drag him up from his grief, but it still lingers in the not-knowing—Mary could be dying right now, the baby could respond poorly to the warmer. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen and he’s already sad about it. 

A doctor comes into the maternity waiting room, his eyes meeting Tony’s with a calming smile. “Mister Stark?”

“Yes-Yes that’s—I’m—what’s happening?

“My name is Doctor Patel. I am the head neonatologist—the primary caretaker for your child. Does your baby have a name yet?”

“No,” Tony says numbly. They don’t have a name yet. They don’t really have _anything_ yet. They’d talked about names a little on the phone after finding out the gender, but then the news about the baby broke out, things at SI picked up...he thought they had more time.

“That's perfectly fine. When you decide, we will change the information on his chart and begin to finalize the paperwork for the birth certificate. For now, we've been calling him ‘little man’. He's very brave, your son. The results for his lab work will come back soon, but we have done a chest x-ray. Because his lungs are still so immature, we’re going to have to give him a little extra help to breathe for the next 24 to 48 hours. We've started him on antibiotics and other medicine to help his lungs develop, but it’s going to be a long road.”

Doctor Patel sets a hand on his shoulder. “However, considering that you’re his father, Mister Stark, I have no doubt that he’ll be quite the fighter, no?”

It’s said on a positive note, but Tony thinks of Mary, of the way she’d been prepared to do all of this alone from the start. She hadn’t needed him. She’d given him the chance because it was the nice thing to do. 

He’s not the one giving strong genes, here.

As if reading his mind, the doctor smiles at him softly. “How is his mother?”

“I don’t know…I don’t—they took her into surgery, I think. I don’t know what happened. There was blood. ‘Lotta blood.”

“I will be thinking of her, then, and I hope you hear something soon. You can come back and see the baby in an hour or so.”

Tony grabs out, catching Doctor Patel’s arm.

“I can see him? Really?”

Doctor Patel gives him a knowing look, tone going soft. “Yes. Of course you can. He'll be in the NICU, but you’re allowed to visit as much as you like. We have a couch ready for you to stay on, but I can’t promise it won’t leave a crick or two in your neck,” he jokes.

“Thank you, doctor,” Tony says, shaking the man’s hand. “Seriously.”

It’s a hell of an hour. He’s had so many of those today, but this one takes the cake.

If there was news about Mary, it might have sped things along, at least made him feel better. Instead it’s more pacing, more cheap coffee, the Stark and Parker crews all jumbled together, chatting and trying to forget the hell they’re all sitting in the middle of.

Dr. Koefed comes into the room just before the hour mark, Sandra by her side.

Sandra doesn’t meet his eyes, and Tony _knows_.

The doctor is speaking, but it’s under a whine of white noise in his ears, he’s under water and floating out of the room and away from it all.

His pulse in his ears. His soul is shaking, leaving his body, never to return.

“We did everything we could,” Doctor Koefed says.

“The bleeding was too heavy,” Doctor Koefed says.

“We are so sorry for your loss,” Sandra says, finally meeting his eyes as he’s falling apart, frowning at the cracks.

He falls back into his chair. Sandra gets in front of him and puts a hand on his knee.

“Don’t—” he snaps, standing so fast his knees almost lock. He leans against the wall for support, Rhodey at his shoulder. “Don’t touch me. I gotta—I can’t—”

He shakes his head, walking to nowhere, this hospital is a maze, it doesn’t matter, nothing fucking matters, Mary is dead.

He has a son, but Mary is dead. Those two facts war with each other, Law of Noncontradiction, they can’t both be true, they _can’t_.

He can’t do this alone. He’s better, but that was for Mary. That was for every other weekend, for a few times a month in New York. How is he going to do this? Maybe he can’t, maybe he should just—

“Mister Stark.” Doctor Patel catches Tony...still in the maternity ward. It’d felt like so long to have been walking, his thoughts rolling around in circles while he’s been unable to contain them.

“Hm?” Tony can’t even pull up any actual words. Mary took them with her.

“I heard about Mary. I’m so sorry. Would you like to see your son? I thought I’d escort you to the NICU myself, if you don’t mind.”

“I—” Words slip through the cracks, but he clears his throat and tries again. “That’s—please.”

It’s a silent walk to the NICU. Doctor Patel is giving him a moment to collect himself, and he’s thankful for it.

The NICU is a quiet place, too. At the very least, the baby isn’t alone. The warmer boxes all sit in a row, chairs and couches pushed off to the side of each one for awaiting parents like himself to use.

He’s a _parent_. God.

He shakes his head, moving after Doctor Patel. The babies do actually all look different despite all being, well, babies. Some are clearly older than others, soon to be going home and out into the world. Others—it’s obvious they have a long way to go.

There’s a clear plastic bag stuck to the side of the warmer Doctor Patel finally brings him to, the paper card inside reading “Baby Fitzpatrick” in a curly, looped script.

It shouldn’t take him so long to move his gaze to the child inside. There are other parents probably wishing they could spend every minute looking at their sickly newborns. It’s just...his mind, making up fantasies again. He’d imagined bringing Mary here. Never bringing Mary into this room at all, holding their child against her chest as they wrapped him in a blanket, a tiny cap on his head as he dozed off in her arms.

Instead, he’s alone. Really alone, once Doctor Patel leaves. He’s the only parent currently in the room, somehow. Like the universe knew he couldn’t stand to see all of the other babies with two.

When he does drum up the courage, it’s the moment from the birth all over again. He’s entranced. Stuck. Where he was once afraid to look, he now can’t seem to tear his eyes away, committing every detail to memory.

The baby looks much more like what his idea of a newborn was this time, despite all of the tubes coming out of his tiny body. His skin is pink and very much more alive. A ventilator is connected to the box and covers his tiny face.

_Alive and breathing._

Tony’s first thought is that the little person in the warming box is the most perfect thing he has ever laid eyes on. 

Tony’s second thought is that Mary never got to see him.

There are a lot of things that Mary will never get to see, now.

He stares at the warmer for what feels like hours. He just sits in the hospital chair and watches his son breathe through a ventilator.

“You can touch him, you know,” says a nurse. She’d entered the room without him noticing, and is clearly doing the rounds on each of the little patients.

“Huh?” is his reply. He snaps himself out of the daze with a few hard blinks, his eyes slightly burning from being open so long, from crying, who knows.

“Are you—are you sure?” he clarifies. The kid seems too small to touch, too fragile. He knows that most parents probably think that, but most parents also don’t have their kids this early. (Though as evidenced by the room, he’s not the only one.)

“Yeah. Not too much—they’re sensitive to stroking and that kind of thing, but holding a hand, things like that—it should be fine.”

He finds himself looking between the nurse and the warmer for a moment. He wants to, he really does, but maybe she’s wrong, maybe he shouldn’t…

“Do you want me to open it…?” the nurse asks with a gentle tone. He probably looks strung out and tired, but maybe that’s normal for the NICU. Maybe they have to coddle the parents as much as the newborns.

“Yeah—no, yeah, please,” he settles on, sitting up and trying to figure out which hand is best, what finger. The kid is barely bigger than his hands, how crazy is that?

It’s a simple latch to undo—he takes note in case he wants to do this again without having to ask a nurse how to open a little plastic door. It’s warm in the chamber—simulating the belly of his mother. (He doesn’t think about Mary again, he can’t, he doesn’t.)

“Thanks, uh,” he says, lightly dismissing the nurse. “Just...thanks.”

“Nurse Kathy,” the nurse smiles, pointing her pen and tapping her name-tag. “I’ll be around. If y’all need anything, just let me know.” Tony notes the accent, but doesn’t question it too much. New York is diverse. Maybe the NICU could use a little southern hospitality like hers.

“Yeah. Thanks. Again.” The woman raises her eyebrows, amused, but leaves him be to check on a baby at the other side of the room.

He puts his hand into the box. The heat makes his hand a little sticky, but it’s not terribly uncomfortable.

Maybe he should say something. He never did that much when Mary was pregnant. It seemed...weird.

“Hey,” he tries, but ends up having to clear his throat. The screaming, crying...it’s been a day for all of them. “It’s, uh, me. Dad.” He sighs. “Yeah, I know, it’s weird for me too. But I’m not a stranger, okay? So don’t, like, freak out when I touch you.”

He goes with his pinky, pressing it into his son’s palm. 

“See? Not so bad. Now, not the smoothest skin, I know. I’m never careful enough with the—”

Suddenly, Tony’s pinky has a small pressure on it, his son’s fingers doing their best to grab on to the foreign object.

“Oh, hey. That’s, uh. No, that’s awesome. Good job, bud. I didn’t even know if you could do that yet.”

He finds himself sniffing, the lights reflecting off of the warmer blurring in his vision a little.

“God, kid, you are really putting me through it, today. I don’t think I’ve cried this much since...well, the last time I was plastered. Maybe the time before that when I couldn’t get Burger King at four AM and threw a drunken shitfit about it. Not one of Happy’s favorite memories.”

He catches himself, snorting a gross mess back into his nostrils. “Sorry about the cursing. It’s hard to quit cold turkey. I’m working on it, I swear.”

He leans back into his seat as much as he can, sad but accepting when the baby seems to sense the movement and let his finger go.

It’s when he looks up that he notices a familiar cluster of bodies near the doorway. The looks on their faces are all...schmoopy.

“Are you guys just gonna stand at the door all day and watch, or do you actually wanna see the kid? ‘Cause I’m fine keeping him all to myself if this is how you’re gonna act.”

He’s never seen four people attempt to roll their eyes at the exact same time before.

Happy is noticeably missing. Probably off to do what he does best—maybe doing it to work through his own grief, to feel useful. The hospital will need constant security since Tony and his son are going to be here for the foreseeable future.

“One visitor at a time, and no touching except for the father,” Nurse Kathy reminds, still in the corner.

“Me first,” May says, raising her hand like a kid in grade-school answering a question.

“Yeah, yeah, c’mon, _Aunt May_ ,” Tony teases, but it only seems to encourage May’s excitement.

“Oh my god,” she coos. “Look at him! My little nephew! Ben, I’m an aunt!” Across the room, Ben gives a thumbs up.

“I understand so much about your relationship from just that exchange,” Tony snarks. May slaps his arm good-naturedly.

“Shut up, you’re ruining the moment.”

“That is my specialty.”

For a moment they just sit there staring at the baby, watching his chest go up and down. For the first time in hours, it feels like peace.

May leans back in her chair, moving her gaze from the baby to Tony. He immediately feels uncomfortable.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“May.”

“I’m just impressed. I kind of thought you’d, I don’t know…”

“Fuck all of this up?”

“The baby’s young. You still have time.”

“Ouch.”

“You know I’m joking,” May leans forward, putting a hand on his knee. “I know we don’t really have an official ties to each other now that Mary’s…”

“Yeah.”

“I just want you to know...we’re still here for you. If you’ll have us. Anytime you need free babysitting, an ear to listen...maybe we could even take one of your fancy planes to California sometime. Take a vacation.”

“Well, you know what they say—the West Coast is the best coast.”

May scoffs. “Please.”

“Seriously, though. Thank you. We may not have any biological ties, but...you’re family. I won’t take that for granted.” And though it pains him to even think about, he adds, “And with Mary...if you need anything—funeral costs, keeping her apartment paid for—”

She moves her hand on top of his, giving it a squeeze. “Thank you, Tony.”

“And if you ever want to switch out Ben for something a little more exciting…” he says, moving his eyebrows around faux flirtatiously.

She looks back to the group at the doorway. Mostly probably joking, she calls out, “Someone switch out with me before I end up wringing his neck!”

By the time it’s Rhodey’s turn, Nurse Kathy has moved on to caring for Baby Fitzpatrick—still going by his mother’s last name until Tony decides what to name him.

“Okay, I have to change his diaper and flip him now,” Kathy says, and Tony directs his attention to the warmer.

“Should I be, like, taking notes or something?”

Under his breath, Tony hears Rhodey puff out an amused, “Jesus Christ.”

“Oh, what, are you a secret baby expert or something? Got it all in there to teach me one day?” He knocks a knuckle against Rhodey’s skull and gets pushed away for trouble.

“I do have young nieces and nephews,” Rhodey admits.

“Just—walk me through it if you can, please, Kathy. I’d appreciate it.”

Mostly because he kind of...forgot about this part. He knew kids involved diapers, and that he’d have to learn to change them at some point, but the actual process of it was something he hadn’t actually bothered to research. It probably wasn’t the worst thing to learn it from someone who voluntarily did it a hundred times a day.

“Sure thing,” she says, smiling at them both. “There’s no real trick other than to be very gentle. Avoid the tubes and you’ll be just fine. We will have you do this later, and I’ll make sure to walk you through it again.”

Tony nods as he focuses on her hands, committing every movement to memory.

Rhodey sighs, like Tony’s focused attention to something for once in his life is actually paining him.

“Tones, you’re gonna be fine. You’re a certified genius who builds bombs for a living. Babies should be easier than bombs.” Which is actually really nice of him to say until he adds, “You just don’t cut the red wire, and he won’t explode.”

Tony can feel his face retracting into an unimpressed squint. “That’s so messed up, Rhodey. We’re in the _NICU_. This is my _baby_. When did your humor get so dark?”

Rhodey snorts, leaning back in his chair and smiling like he’s relaxing on a beach vacation instead of sitting in a New York hospital room. “Like you don’t know any son of yours is a bomb just waiting to go off.”

“I hate you so much,” Tony replies, bumping Rhodey’s elbow with his own.

Rhodey nudges his elbow back. “Love you too, bro.” 

They watch as the baby is flipped over and gently nestled back into the middle of the warmer. “I’m gonna be the best uncle ever.”

“I’m putting my money on Ben,” Tony replies, smirking as Rhodey’s sharp elbow hits his ribs this time.

“Do y’all have a place to stay in town? It’s getting late,” Kathy says as she closes the little hatch. “Tony, we can get you a blanket and pillow if you’d like to stay.”

“The apartment,” Tony suddenly remembers. “Pepper has a key, right?”

Pepper nods, not looking up from her phone, probably checking in with Obie. “There’s plenty of room for us, James.”

Rhodey nods, and the group disperses, all saying their goodbyes to Tony, but giving little waves to the baby. It’s nauseatingly sweet.

Pepper checks in with him, leaving herself for last. “Are you going to be okay here?”

He shrugs. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

Pepper sighs her sigh of a battle she knows she won’t win. “Okay. I’ll bring you something more comfortable. I’m sure that suit’s getting pretty stale. Anything else?”

It takes him a second. He almost lets her walk out the door before he says, “The, um. The bunny. From his nursery. Mary would have—I think it should be here. She really liked it.”

The smile she sends back is dimmed with the same sorrow they’re all still trying to work through, but she nods nonetheless, bidding him goodnight.

Kathy brings him a pillow and blanket, but he doesn’t get much sleep. Doctor Patel was right about the couch. It’s better than the floor, but not by much. (It’s not the real reason he doesn’t get much sleep—there’s more than one, if he thinks too much about the day’s events.)

Still, a few stolen hours on the couch beats nothing, and he makes do much better with the coffee that Pepper brings in at 7 AM, a change of clothes and the baby’s toy tucked into her purse.

The day passes pretty uneventfully. They take the baby off of the ventilator that evening, and they move him to a CPAP machine that still looks too big on his tiny face. Doctor Patel says his lungs are still weak, but getting stronger each hour. They suspect that if he takes well to the CPAP, they can move him to a nasal cannula in about a week.

It’s the third day that things change, and overwhelmingly for the better. 

Nurse Kathy—in much better shape than him because he hasn’t showered in three days and has been wearing the exact same dark-wash jeans and t-shirt for two—tells him they’re taking out his UAC and putting in a PICC.

He doesn’t know what that means, so she kindly explains it to him. 

“It basically means we are taking out this little tube that runs to his tummy here,” she points to the spot while changing his diaper again, which is actually a helpful visual aid. “To give him a less invasive IV. It also means that you can hold him when it’s out.”

Tony’s head snaps up at that, his eyes wide.

“R-Really?!”

He can hold the kid. All medical jargon aside, his genius brain finally unclogs after days worth of stress and grief to acknowledge that much.

She smiles at him, nodding. “Yeah. Excited?”

He nods, but his fingers end up running through the oily mess that is his hair, and she picks up on it.

“And worried,” she surmises.

“He’s just all—” Tiny. Fragile. Breakable. Breaking things is kind of Tony’s schtick, and before all of this, he’s the last person in the world that he would’ve handed a baby to.

“Babies are actually pretty tough, ya know. Magic of life. Even when we don’t know what’s going on...we keep on trying to live.”

“That’s...pretty deep for eight o’clock in the morning, Kathy.”

She shrugs. “I see a lot of nervous parents come through here. I’ve found that kind of stuff helps cut through all the anxiety. Just hold your kid. Love ‘em. It’s pretty simple.”

He doesn’t see the process of the IV getting changed. Pepper convinces him to leave the room for a coffee break and an update of business things she’s been holding off as long as possible. It’s entirely too convenient that he thinks she’s doing it on purpose—probably at Kathy’s recommendation.

When he comes back in, his son has an IV that is much easier to look at. It’s smaller and not nearly as intimidating. He steps up to the warmer, lingering as Kathy starts to undo the lid.

“You ready, _D_ _ad_?” she asks in that third-person way people do that he used to find annoying, but has by now accepted as his burden of fatherhood.

“As I’ll ever be, I guess,” he replies, situating into the chair that may or may not be getting a little too familiar with his ass-print these days, and probably will only get more comfortable to him in the coming weeks.

Kathy attempts to distract him a little as she opens the warmer and reaches in. “Now, at some point, we’ll be recommending kangaroo care. Essentially, this with your shirt off. Skin to skin contact is important for newborns. Since he can’t leave the NICU right now, I’m afraid you’ll be doing so where everyone can see.”

“Not really a problem for me,” he quips, voice only a little shaky now.

“Alright, little man,” Kathy coos to the baby, bringing him over after wrapping him up in a little blue blanket.

From the moment he’s set in his arms, the feeling he’s become so familiar with these last six months multiplies by the thousands. It sets his blood on fire and sends his stomach into knots. He takes in a subtle gasp as it rolls through him, looking down in awe at the tiny bundle.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” Kathy says, off to check on her other infant patients.

It’s a good thing, probably. At this rate, he’s definitely going to cry again, and he’s done more public crying in the last few days than he’s otherwise done in the entirety of his life.

He tries to reorient himself around the dizzying amount of emotion coursing through him. Without the barrier of plastic, Tony can see the baby's tiny, still-developing features more clearly. Rounded nose, wide forehead, the hint of a distinct chin. His eyes may change according to the baby book he’d still been picking through before the early birth, but for now they’re a light blue color that more matches Mary’s than his own.

Looking down at his son, he knows one thing for sure.

He’s perfect.

 _God_ , he loves him. He knew that he did before this, but it’s real now in the same certifiable way that the earth spins around, that gravity keeps them all tethered, that science and math were there for him when his father was binge drinking and his mother was hiding away from it all.

He’s holding his flesh and blood son in his arms. He’s watching his little breaths come in and out and he thinks _again, again, again_ because the thought that they could ever stop has wrapped around his heart and made him determined to never let it happen in exchange for his own life.

He still has his doubts—the unofficial rehab has only lasted these last six months, and he broke it once in a fit of emotional fear. There’s a lot of things to be scared of coming his way.

The doubts just don’t matter as much as they did before. He doesn’t want to think about them as much as he wants to think about his son growing up, learning, living a life that is incredible and amazing because Tony refuses to give his child anything else. It’s not about his inability to put together the baby’s room without Rhodey’s help, not about the fear of what lies in newborn diapers, not about all of the things Tony knows he never was before and has to be now because Mary can’t do it for him.

He can’t give this up. He doesn’t want to. How could he have ever thought—?

“Hey, bud,” he says to the baby, gently rocking his arms. “I’m sorry this took so long. It’s all gonna be long, I think. And I’m sorry about that too.”

“It’s gonna get better. I promise. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere, okay? I know I was—before I thought I couldn’t do it. I’m kind of a mess, you know? I just—I didn’t have you before. I know that doesn’t make a lot of sense, but it just—you changed my whole life in like two seconds flat. How fucking crazy is that?”

He snorts as he wipes a tear from his eye, keeping the other arm securely around the baby.

“Sorry. Cursing, I know. My point is—I know we don’t have your mom anymore. I was depending on her too, but that’s not how things worked out. I’m just going to do my best, and that’s gonna be whatever’s best for you, and we’ll make up the rest. It’s what I’ve always done, and look where it got us, huh?”

The baby sighs against his chest, and Tony finds himself taking in a breath too, letting the oxygen fill his blood with a sense of responsibility he’s never had.

“I think I have to give you a name. You’d like that, right? Instead of baby and little man and whatever other inane nicknames everybody else can come up with?” He looks at the other names on the warmers around them, but shakes his head. “Probably not great to start out stealing. Bad morals there.”

He thinks back to the short-list of names he and Mary had toyed with, rocking back and forth in the chair in a natural soothing movement for his son.

“Edwin’s kind of old-fashioned. Honestly, I think Jarvis picked being a butler just so no one would call him by his first name anymore.” He tries to think of other names from the Stark family. “Definitely not Howard, I love you way too much for that. I never knew my grandparents. Dad’s family was as crappy as he was, and Mom’s was mostly foreign. Italian, actually. I should take you there, some day. She knew the best spots. The best family vacations were just the two of us out in the Italian countryside.”

“I’m getting distracted, sorry. Bad habit. No suggestions? That’s fair. That’s a lot of work at three days old.”

He continues to hold his son, rocking him lightly and aware that their time together is going to end much sooner than he’d like. His eyes fall onto the pile of his belongings, clothes neatly stacked by Pepper at the end of the couch that’s been acting as his bed despite the fact that he actually hasn’t been getting much sleep on it.

On the top of the pile is the Peter Rabbit toy that Mary had loved so much. That _he_ had loved so much. Its little button nose looks so much like his son’s, the rabbit delicate and soft just like the baby in his arms.

“Now there’s an idea,” he tells the baby. Peter. Peter Stark. “How about it? Peter sound good to you?”

His son’s tiny feet kick in the swaddle, and Tony feels his heart swell. Even if he can’t answer yet, Peter’s listening. It feels natural to use the name now that it’s out in the world.

“Peter it is then.” He bounces his son with a quiet cheer. “Now, as for middle names...don’t tell your Aunt May, but we’re really glad to have the Parkers in the family, and I think your mom would have really liked to have you named after the sanest one.”

“Peter Benjamin Stark,” he says out loud. Nurse Kathy catches it, walking back over, their alone time together up.

“You picked a name?” she asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“Peter. I think that’s a good one.”

Looking down at the baby in his arms, his _baby_ , his _son_ , his _Peter_ , he decides he has a name for the feeling as well. It’s no longer foreign, it’s as familiar as the weight in his hands will be for the rest of his life.

It’s love. _Unconditional love._

“Yeah. I think he is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All comments, kudos, etc. are apprecaited! As you can see, this is a series, and we have a lot of ideas in the tank that we're hoping to write in the near future. If you ever want to talk about IronDad, Marvel, this fic, or anything else with us, feel free to use the tumblr links above and send us a message!


End file.
